The Knife That Spared The Fox
by SheerwaterPhoenix
Summary: Clove is captured by Foxface(Finch), who can't bring herself to kill Clove. They form an alliance neither of them saw coming, battle enemies Finch never though she could overcome, and feel things Clove never though she could feel. But...which one will make it home? I am terrible with summaries, the story is better than it sounds. I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES!
1. Reaping

**Clove I**

I am volunteering today. I am going into the Hunger Games. I am going to win the Hunger Games.

My parents are both victors, but they don't care about anyone who isn't. And that includes me. They say that everyone is shamed until they have proven themselves, and apparently the only way to prove yourself is to win the Games.

That's just one reason I'm going in. The truth is, I am born to kill. Not even my friend Perrine knows the exact way to hold a knife the first time she's touched one. No one else has ever rivaled my skills in knife throwing. Not even Cato Harding, who everyone admires and envies for his strength, stamina, and weapon skills. He's good with spears, swords, maces, those sorts of things, but he's hopeless at throwing knives, and archery too. One of the only ones in the training center I can't beat as if he were made of paper. More like made of the stone that our district mines. Just as strong, too.

I'm nearly at the square now. I am wearing a plain green dress, but it's clearly a fancy material. There's a necklace too, but it's just a gold chain with nothing on it at all. I've never particularly liked jewelry, but it feels kind of compulsory at the Reaping.

Here. I quickly sign in and file into the fifteen-year-olds' section. Perrine's coincidentally right next to me, and that Daphne Stoker is separated from me by just two people. Ooh, how I wish I had a knife! I want to drive it into Daphne's neck, blood spurting out, hot and sticky, as she tries to scream but is drowning in her own blood, dying in pain and misery as I laugh and glory in her agony!

Of course, that won't happen. I don't have a knife, and the Peacekeepers would shoot me, most likely. But who cares, because Clio, our escort, is at the female tributes' Reaping ball!

"Perrine Elestren!" Clio calls out, her voice ringing across the square.

She's waiting until she's seventeen to volunteer, so I yell, "I volunteer as tribute!"

At the same time as Daphne Stoker.

**Finch I**

Today is the Reaping. My name isn't in there many times, but enough for me to worry. I am already at the square, signed in and in the designated area for my age. I turn and attempt to find Laurel's face in the audience, but I can't see her.

Laurel is older than me, at nineteen, but she's a little bit wrong. Not completely crazy, just-as much as I hate to say it-not all that intelligent or danger-sensitive. But she does know that the Reaping and the Games mean death, and has been scared of them as much as any little kid. Laurel is really more of a little kid than someone four years older than me.

I return my gaze to the stage where Aurelia, the District Five escort, is approaching the female tributes' Reaping ball, wearing a scary smile that is too big for the face of any normal human being.

My can't look up there. I avert my eyes, staring at the ground. I clench fistfuls of my pale blue dress that is more gray now. I feel faint, and I'm trembling. My chest is weighted, like my heart has been replaced with a stone. I know without looking that Aurelia is groping around in the glass orb filled with names of the prospective tributes.

"Finch Crossfly!" Aurelia exclaims brightly.

I nearly fall over in dread and terror. I take a shaky breath as I slowly trudge through the path that everyone clears out for me.

**Clove II**

We snap our heads around to glare at each other, but I'm the one who attacks first. I lunge at the girl, and ram her in the chest, driving the wind from her body. Daphne stumbles back a few paces, but near instantly she regains her breath and her head streaks towards my throat.

She's kind of obsessed with Enobaria, one of District Two's most famous victors. Daphne wants to follow in her footsteps by copying that throat-ripping move. Daphne has watched the Sixty-Second Hunger Games recap so many times, replaying the scene where Enobaria uses her teeth to rip out the throat of her victim, trying to perfect the attack style.

I sensibly get my neck _out _of there, because those training hours paid off on Daphne's fang skills. She punches me in the back of the head, and it snaps forward as the girl tackles me to the floor. She grabs my gold necklace, pulling on it in an attempt to choke me.

I rear up and throw her off, right into a Peacekeeper who grabs her by her wrists and wrenches her arms behind her back. Daphne's still clutching the necklace in a death grip, it got ripped off when I threw her off. I turn and try to charge her, but a second Peacekeeper comes at me from behind and gets me in the same hold that Daphne's in.

I am struggling to get at my rival, but to no avail. The Peacekeeper's grip is iron.

"You're in," the he mutters. I quit fighting him, and I smirk in triumph as Daphne screams in outrage when her captor tells her the same news.

I'm in. I stride up to the stage, and Clio inquires for my name.

"Clove Fuhrman," I announce proudly. _I'm in._

"Lovely! Now for the boys!" Clio is at the boys' bowl, and she calls the name, "Dixon Norbeck!"

He's not that strong, thirteen and puny even for his age. He's the one I recognize just for leaving with a black eye every day. No need for him to worry, because a split second after Dixon's name is read, Cato volunteers.

Lucky me. Cato Harding.

**Finch II**

I try to breathe deeply as I tread carefully and slowly as I walk up to the stage. I am somehow able to control my ragged breathing as I make my way up there.

I am going into the Hunger Games. I am going to die. There is no chance of me winning, none! The starting gong will be the cannon that marks my death. My stare is blank, and I am finally able to locate Laurel. She is staring up at me like a terrified little nine-year-old, and the stone in my chest seems to gain a thousand pounds as I meet her eyes. She knows what the Games mean, and what my role in them is to be this year. She knows what death is.

"Bravo, round of applause!" trills Aurelia.

Not a single person claps. No one in Five ever does.

The escort purses her lips in slight irritation in the crowd's refusal to applaud. Then she forces a bright smile as she hops over to the boys' orb of names, and pulls out the name. "Darren Almandier!"

I don't recognize the name, and I don't care. He has dark hair, and his eyes are narrowed permanently. He's my age, but about two inches taller than me.

Darren and I shake hands, and neither of us say a word.

**Clove III**

We shake hands, and I narrow my eyes at him. He'll be a difficult obstacle, much harder to kill than anyone else. We enter the Justice Building, then are steered in opposite directions. I wait stiffly in the room, wondering if my parents are even going to bother visiting me. For some reason, they do. At the same time, though-wouldn't want to take up time.

"You're going to win," Mom says. I blink in surprise; this is the most encouraging thing she's ever said to me. "Even up against Cato, you can do it. You've always been amazing at knives, more amazing than I thought anyone could be with a weapon. Knives take skill-skill you've got."

Dad never speaks much, but he does now. "We do care. I just never knew. Not just about your skill at knives, but about you. I wish I knew I felt this way before now, we can catch up when you win." I notice the 'when' is said with pride and confidence.

I don't say a word to Cato as we get into the car that will take us to the train. The ride is dull and boring, but I keep myself entertained by imagining torturing the tributes.

We soon arrive at the train, and I enter without taking much in. _Don't get distracted by the fancy stuff, _I tell myself. _You're here for one reason only: To win the Hunger Games._

**Finch III**

I hug Laurel. I don't care if there are cameras on us-are there? I forget-I just do it.

"Come back, okay?" Laurel mumbles.

Oh, I want to! But I won't. It isn't possible, but no need to let her know that. "Okay," I say, although it's a lie. I don't like to lie to her, I don't want to do this to her! How will she survive without me, I got us food, not much but enough, when I was too little we nearly starved, died, but we got through it, I want to get through this too, but we won't, I'm going to die in the arena, Laurel's going to die without me, all gonna die, all gonna die... I try to keep them in, but the tears come. Flowing down my cheeks in miniature rivers, I don't care if anyone's watching, I'm just letting them come. They come. And come. I wonder if they'll ever stop.

I don't see anything as we ride to the train station or as we get on the train. I'm letting Aurelia and the Peacekeepers take me wherever, but my mind is nowhere.

_I am going to die._


	2. Chariot Rides

**Clove I**

We got lucky this year. Cato and I are wearing golden armor—so much better than the _rocks _last year. Seriously, in the Seventy-third Hunger Games, our District's tributes were dressed up as _rocks. _That was just sad.

Everyone except our mentors are telling Cato and I to be all smiley and happy—whatever. I don't care what they say, I'm not doing it. From the look on Cato's face, neither is he. I'm just going to look like the fierce District Two killer that I am.

District One is leaving the Remake Center on their chariot. _We're in a few more seconds. _And we're off! Cato looks like he's about to murder something, and I assume that so do I. Our armor costumes glint in the colorful light of the Capitol.

"District Two!" I hear the audience chanting. "District Two! District Two!" I take it all in. None of the other tributes are nearly as amazing as us. Five is stupid, glittery silver suits with headpieces like huge, silver-sequined satellites. And Eight, don't even get me _started_ on them. Pink-and-blue baggy patchwork suits.

And then Twelve just _has_ to come in and ruin the whole ting by being set on fire. Everyone switches the 'Two' to 'Twelve', favoring those pathetic, scrawny idiots instead of us. Me, who is good as already the victor!

Fire Girl is going to have a knife in her back the second the gong rings.

**Finch I**

Oh, _great_. Just great. Darren and I have to wear glittery silver-sequined jumpsuits for the tribute parade. And the headpieces. I'm not picky about anything really, but these are just humiliating. And now I have to wear them in front of the entire country.

Not as scary as the District Two tributes, though. _How can I call them _tributes? I think. _More like victors. No doubt that one of them will win. No doubt at all._

Careers are evil, but there are actually two good things. You have a chance in the Hunger Games, and you have a lower chance of starving. But I could never leave District Five for another home, even one that most likely meant living longer.

We're moving. I can feel the chariot bumping along, and grab the front of it for balance. I feel like a deer in headlights, I hate all this attention. I'm _supposed _to slip into the background, _supposed _to have no one notice me. _Supposed _to be the fox that slinks away, the fox that stays away from everything.

But here I am, a tribute in the Games, on display for the Capitol.

**Clove II**

"That was amazing!" Allia shrills as we dismount the chariot.

"You didn't smile, but still great!" Appius comments.

I just stalk past them, straight to the elevator. I don't wait for anyone else and press the '_Two' _button. The glass machine shoots upward two stories with amazing speed, delivering me directly to where I will stay before I go into the arena.

**Finch II**

Darren and I are greeted with a flurry of praises, and I just stand there, not really there. I'm nowhere again, like after the Reaping. They lead us to the elevator, and Darren presses the button that takes us up to floor five. The elevator whisks us up, and for a moment I am exhilarated by the speed. All to soon it's over, and we arrive at the place I will live in for the next four days.


	3. Training

**Clove I (Training, Day 1)**

The first thing I do after Atala finishes her speech is head straight over to the knives. I haven't touched real ones since morning training right before the Reaping! It feels like forever. I snatch three and ready myself. The first target's outline lights up in red. I fling a knife toward it and the blade buries itself in the part of the target that would be the chest. Another lights up and a second knife I subconsciously throw into its chest. On the third one I spin around and let the knife fly into the target.

_This is too easy,_ I think.

"Faster!" I snarl. The targets speed up until there are three at once. All the knives leave my hand at the same time and they easily find the heads of the targets.

I keep yelling at the trainers to make it go faster, faster, faster, until six human silhouettes are all outlined in glowing red. I use both hands, three in each, and launch the knives into the air.

They all find their marks.

Hmmm. I expected the Capitol to give me more of a challenge.

"Here!"

I whip my head around to find the voice, and I see it's coming from the archery trainer.

"Yeah, Knife Girl, you!"

I stalk over to him, arms crossed.

"Too easy?" he asks me.

"What do you think?" I throw a knife backwards over my shoulder, and it hits one of the archery targets.

"This might be a little harder." The archery trainer walks over to a chest, opens it, and throws some sort of stuffed bird into the air. A knife leaves my hands before I completely register the action, and impales the bird through the neck.

We keep going until we get up to five long-distance birds, and I hit them all.

"Well," he says, "I guess you're perfect in knives. Might want to try a survival station."

I give a curt nod, but make it known that I'm ignoring him by heading over to where Cato is chucking spears.

They call us for lunch at that moment, so I guess I'll try spears after the meal.

Turns out, I am terrible with spears. As much as I hate to admit it, I do. They're just so unwieldy and not balanced right and _how do you hold the stupid things?_

And now I will try swords. They look more decent.

"Grip it with one hand, your dominant one, and—"

I interrupt the trainer. "Get on with it! I know how to hold a sword!"

She looks a little taken aback, but does what I say. She grabs a sword and faces me. "Let's start."

The trainer comes at me, whirling the sword so that I have to keep track of where it is when its position is changing constantly. I block the first strike and try to repost, but she parries it and lunges. I back up far enough so that she can't reach me, but I can't get to her either. I advance a few steps, and I press my blade against hers, then disengage and lunge. She lunges as well, and touches the tip of her sword to my chest. My sword slid just between her chest and arm, so I didn't get her.

She won. Angry that someone beat me at a weapon I'm fairly decent at, I resolve to fence her for the rest of the day until I win against her.

I don't.

**Finch I (Training, Day One)**

Edible plants should be my best chance. Two of the most common edible plants are apparently dandelions and clovers. I memorize them in seconds. You can eat all the parts of a dandelion-leaves, stem, and even the flower.

You should avoid any plants with thorns, fine hairs, or spines. Milky or discolored sap is another sign the plant is toxic. The trainer is telling us to try and figure out which plants are poisonous. We're not supposed to eat them, just examine them for the signs of being poisonous.

I successfully complete the test, and I head over to the rock climbing wall. On the way, I spot the District Two girl sending knives into the bulls-eyes of multiple targets at once. That's a victor right there. Like nearly all people in the non-Career districts, I think that the Careers are horrible, bloodthirsty and evil. But, I can't help but admire this girl's skill.

I continue on to the rock climbing wall. I slide my hands onto the handholds, place my feet on the footholds, and haul myself up the wall, handhold by handhold. I fall about halfway up, but there's a thick mat underneath the wall so I don't hurt myself.

My arms are trembling by the time I finally make it up and down without falling. Who knew how difficult it was to do that? Well, I guess I'm not all that strong.

They call us for lunch, and I sit alone. I decide to learn how to make a shelter after the meal.

The shelter I now know is called a debris hut. First, make the skeleton out of sticks. Next, cover it in things like branches with the leaves and needles still on them. The next layer is made up of things like dead ferns. Bark, pine needles, and twigs are also good building supplies. It can be tested for being rainproof by dumping a bucket of water over it.

Mine wasn't rainproof.

_**The next two days:**_

_**Clove: All weapons, plus fire starting, rock climbing, and snares.**_

_**Finch: All survival skills, plus knife throwing and archery. She also took notes of the other tributes.**_

**Clove II (Training, Private Session)**

"Clove Fuhrman."

I stride into the training room and head directly over to the knife throwing section. I activate the targets to go as fast as they can, and almost immediately six are outlined in red. I do just as well as I did in training, and six more light up. This time I turn around backwards before I launch the knives. All hit their targets. I turn back around, and throw three knives at the single target that's lit up. One strikes the head, another the throat, the third its chest. All death hits. I let fly two knives aiming for the climbing net, and they sever the two outer ropes like I intended.

Next, I go to the rock climbing wall. I go up and down without falling once, then up and down again without touching the ground in between. It is actually much more difficult than it sounds. Well, it used to be difficult. Back in District Two, we had to do this on fifteen different climbing routes to build up our endurance. We did that twice every week starting at age twelve, so I can do it easily now.

I leave the room when I do it four more times.

**Finch II (Training, Private Session)**

"Finch Crossfly."

I silently creep into the training room. I glance around to see what I should do. I go to the edible plants section. There's some sort of quiz on a large computer screen. I press _'START' _and I complete it in about a minute.

I turn and look at the Gamemakers. A few are watching, but they look bored. Maybe weapons would be more promising. They seem to like those better.

I decide to show them knife throwing, one of the only weapons that I even tried, even though I can't do it well and my performance will definitely pale in comparison to the District Two girl's.

I hold the knife the way I remember the instructor told me to. Anybody can see I barely know anything about this. I pitch the knife at the target, hoping that I at least get a good stick.

The blade embeds itself in the outer ring marked on the dummy, and I consider myself lucky. I actually hit the target.

Climbing. I'm not going to do the rock climbing, just the net. I scramble up it and notice that the outer two ropes are severed in the upper section. I roll the net over and drop, twisting around in midair so that I land in a crouch, one hand on the ground between my legs, the other extended for balance. I decide that I'm finished and exit the room.

**Please review! I haven't gotten any, and I really need feedback on this story.**


	4. Training Scores

**Thank you for the review! It means so much to me that someone likes my story!**

**Clove I**

Clio knocks on my door to call me to dinner. I change from my training uniform into a dark red short-sleeved shirt and black pants, much more presentable for a Capitol dinner.

There's a bowl of fish soup already set out for me. I'm actually starving, but I don't want to be seen as some sort of uncivilized savage. I'm just fine with being savage in a different way.

I don't pay attention to what the mentors, stylists and Clio say until Enobaria, my mentor, asks what we showed the Gamemakers. Cato answers first.

"Spear throwing, and I used a sword on a few dummies. I threw around the weights a little."

"I threw my knives, then did five endurance-climbs on the rock climbing wall," I say. "One time I turned around backwards when I threw, and hit all six targets that were lit up, at fatal points."

"Your scores won't be completely hopeless," Enobaria comments. I think she knows we'll get great scores, she just isn't exactly the nicest person around. Actually, that sounds like something I'd say if I were a mentor.

When we finish the meal, we sit down on a sofa to watch the training scores be televised. First they flash Marvel's picture, with a nine under it. Glimmer somehow manages an eight. I can't deny I'm surprised—she was hopeless in training. Cato gets a ten, predictable. So do I. The boy from District Three with a seven, what did he do?

District Four. Breck gets a five, we already decided not to let him into the Career Pack. Marina gets an eight, she's pretty good with a sword. The girl from Five gets a five, the boy from her district a four. The scores are bad-to-decent until District Eleven, with Thresh getting the predicted ten. We offered him a place in the Career Pack, but he turned it down—big mistake. The tiny girl who I can't believe comes from the same _district _as Thresh gets a seven—wait, what? Must have been impressive for her size. Climbing, maybe. The boy from Twelve gets an eight, he looks strong enough. And Fire Girl gets an eleven.

I don't know how she did that, but _no one _shows me up in training.

**Finch I**

I eat my dinner without talking at all. I deflect all the questions people ask me. I go to the sitting room early, even though the scores won't be televised for about fifteen or twenty minutes.

Everyone arrives in time for the scores. I get my notes from training and write down the scores of each tribute. I scrape a five. Here's what it says once I finish:

_D1M—9_

_D1F—8_

_D2M—10_

_D2F—10_

_D3M—7_

_D3F—4_

_D4M—5_

_D4F—8_

_D5M—4_

_D6M—5_

_D6F—4_

_D7M—6_

_D7F—6_

_D8M—5_

_D8F—3_

_D9M—2_

_D9F—3_

_D10M—6_

_D10F—2_

_D11M-10_

_D11F—7_

_D12M—8_

_D12F—11_

With District _Twelve _tributes with an eight and _eleven,_ I have no chance at all.

**I know, shortshortshortshort! Most chapters will be longer, don't worry!**

**Remember, review! Constructive criticism, please? What's good about my story, what could be better? Do you want details about the non-main events? Do you want Finch's training notes? Please tell me!**


	5. Interviews

**Oh no, it feel's like it's been forever since I updated! Sorry! I'll try to update sooner the rest of this story.**

**I'm going to go ahead to the interviews. I do not want to post the content and presentation lessons.**

**Clove I**

My dress is an orange-salmon color, and it's just past knee-length. There's a wide belt of the same color that's around my ribs instead of my waist. It's strapless, which I don't like, and I don't like the ruffles either. I do not tell my stylist, though.

My hair is done up in my usual high ponytail, but there's something that's unidentifiable about it which makes it look fancier. I flick it so that it hangs down my left shoulder.

Right now, Glimmer's on stage. She's wearing a gold-colored silk dress, and definitely trying to win sponsors with her looks rather than actually trying to win the Games with skill. When she tells Caesar she's 'very prepared' for the arena, I know she isn't.

Marvel is just going for a positive, happy feel, but he actually acts quite _dumb._ The only reason I listen to his interview is because I need to know when his buzzer goes off—that's when my interview starts.

Marvel's buzzer goes off. I take my seat next to Caesar, and he smiles at me.

"Clove, that little struggle at the Reaping had us all on the edges of our seats. Fighting to be a tribute! How did you feel when you were chosen to have the honor of being a tribute instead of that girl who challenged you?"

"Well, I can say that I have much more of a chance in the Games than she would," I answer, smirking. I know that Daphne will be watching right now—I can almost hear her scream of rage.

"Oh yes, you impressed us with that score of ten in training. Would you care to tell us how you got that great score?" Caesar asks me.

"Were you watching the general training or not? If you did, you would have seen me throwing knives—and I never miss."

"I'm sure you don't. And another thing about the Reaping—why did you volunteer?" he questions.

"Have you ever _seen _a tribute from my district who _didn't _volunteer? District honor is important to everyone there. The Games, it's everyone's dream to be a victor. My dream too."

"Yes, I'm sure that you have what it takes to be a victor. Do you like what you've seen of the Capitol so far?"

"Oh yes, particularly the Training Center's training area. Those are some very high-quality weapons there," I say. "As for the rest of the Capitol, it's amazing too—but I know I'll have plenty more time to see it when I come back as a victor."

"Well, I would be happy to see you again as a victor. Sadly, our time now is up." Caesar takes my hand in his and pumps it up in the air. "Clove, the girl with the knives! She never misses!"

**Finch I**

I have absolutely no idea how to pull off the 'elusive' angle when someone's asking me _questions_. I have to answer the questions, and that really doesn't work when you're trying to make people think you're mysterious.

I clench my turquoise blue dress in a fist. I wait for Tryania, my stylist, to come yell at me for rumpling up the fabric, but she doesn't.

I can't deny that I feel very awkward in it. There aren't any straps, and it is above my knees—I really feel that it should be longer and have something holding it up. The choker necklace makes me feel as if I'm being strangled, but I'm probably just nervous that someone _might actually strangle me _in the Hunger Games! And, I'm going to have to be on a stage in front of the entire country for three whole minutes, _talking _with no one else to distract them from me like the chariot rides, with District Twelve being _on fire_ and everything!

Yes, I think I might be nervous. And that's an understatement. I try to pay attention during the other tributes' interviews, to get an idea of what their strategy might be like.

The District One girl is just getting sponsors with her interview, but I'm not going to ignore that eight in training. Marvel, I think his name is, is supposed to be 'funny', but it's mostly just awkward. Both from District Two are ruthless killers. District Three don't stand out much, but the boy got a seven, he shouldn't be overlooked. The District Four girl is a right Career, but the boy from her district got a five and seems to small to be a part of the pack.

Oh no. My turn.

I reluctantly walk out onto the stage, and sit in the chair. The bright lights and knowing everyone's attention is on me is enough to make my chest feel light and fluttery, make my breathing rapid and shallow.

"Finch, you surprised me there with that five in training. That was great concealing of your abilities before then, I'm sure you had us all fooled. Would you be hiding any more secrets? An arena strategy, perhaps?"

Complimenting a five, the average score in training. He's good as admitting that I'm completely average, nothing much. But maybe I can work with this. "Oh, I'm not stupid enough to blurt out what I'm planning with all of the other tributes listening. Could mean the difference between life and death out there." I'm surprised at how confident I sound. I thought my voice would be a trembling whisper, how isn't it?

"You're a sly one, aren't you? Well, I suppose I can't get any more information out of this one, can I? An opinion, then. How are you liking the Capitol?"

Nina, my mentor, prepared me for this one. Just praise everything. "It's been great here," I say. "The food is the best I've ever had, and the Training Center has been so helpful." That should be sufficient.

"Yes, I've heard good things about the Training Center. What skills did you practice there?"  
"Still trying to get my secrets out? I will not let the other tributes know what my plan is. I'm trying to stay alive here." Oh, no, was that too much? But Caesar just grins and compliments my 'slyness'. I don't even seehow it _is _slyness—it's just common sense! Now he's just praising me for my _common sense! _I'm hopeless. I just say,

"Thank you, Caesar." Oh, great. _Now _my voice is trembling. The nervousness is catching up to me again. He's praising my common sense. Complimenting an average score. I'm helpless, stupid, as good as dead already, freaking out from being in the spotlight, _this—is—not—happening! _I feel like a deer in the headlights. I grab the edges of my chair. Caesar tries to cover it up by cracking some jokes, but it's certain now that I won't get a single sponsor.

To my immense relief, the buzzer sounds. Caesar pulls me to my feet and raises my hand in his. "Best of luck to Finch, tribute of District Five!"

**Hope you liked it. Please review!**


	6. Arena: Day One

**Clove I**

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I have been waiting for this moment my entire life.

Well, not _exactly this _moment. The platforms are just the start. I've been waiting for the arena, the Games, the killing.

Fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven...

The timer counts down. Forty-six more seconds, forty-five, until the days I've been waiting for finally begin. I'm gonna win this thing.

That I'm sure of.

I glance around. In front of me, I can see a forest, and to my left there's a lake. I swivel and cast around behind me. Just some sort of cliff or drop-off. I turn back around. Cato is five plates to my left, Marina-District Four-is a few to my right. I can't see District One, so I assume they are near each other on the other side of the horn.

The rest of the tributes are dead meat.

Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven, thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four...

I have to win this. I will.

The Feeling is rising in my chest. My heartbeat races in excitement. I am scanning the Cornucopia for knives. Almost instantly my eyes lock onto a pack of them, and I allow myself a smile. Those knives are going to let some blood loose.

Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two...

I don't look away from the knives. They're all that matter right now.

**Finch I**

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I have been dreading that this would happen my entire life. That I would be in this circle of tributes, staring at the shining horn.

About to die.

The only way I will survive the bloodbath is to run away. That's what I've been planning for most scenarios, anyway. I cast around, making sure I know where all the Careers are. My major goal is to stay away from them, especially in the bloodbath. The girl from Two is three plates to my left, and her district partner is five away from her. The girl from Four is directly on my right. Not good. The girl from One is barely visible, mostly blocked by the Cornucopia, but I can see her at the other side of the ring. I can't see her district partner.

Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven...

_I'm going to die. _I'm going to die. Die. I feel panicky, but I remind myself to stay calm. Even though I _will _die, I don't want it to be on the first day. I want to last as long as I could.

Laurel wants me to come home. My eyes well up with tears at the thought. _I'm not coming back._

I don't want to think of Laurel. Of home. It just reminds me that I'll never see it again.

The forest is across the ring of tributes. The direct route would be straight through, but it's to risky. I'll have to skirt around the circle, even though it will take longer. I position myself in the direction of the selected route.

Twenty-three, twenty two...

Run. Live. That's all that matters right now.

**Clove II**

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The gong rings out and I sprint towards the horn, towards the knives. I reach them at the same time another tribute-the boy from Seven-reaches a large backpack next to it. I grab the easiest knife to reach, but I don't have enough room to throw it, so I just plunge it into the tribute's throat.

For a second I feel like celebrating, to stab the tribute again and again to spill more blood. This is my first kill! But there are more tributes. My heart is beating impossibly quick. There's a tribute near Cato, District Six, so I drive the crates between me and him directly on to him, so he is knocked down by the boxes. Cato recognizes his chance and brings his sword point down on Six's chest. We grin at each other, then get back to business.

Marvel's on the ground, and I see the girl from Seven raising an axe, ready to strike down on Marvel's chest. Seven pauses for a moment, hesitant to kill. That's all I need. I ram into her, knocking her to the ground. Really, I don't mind Marvel dead, he's irritating, but a competent Career dying on the first day of the Games? That'd ruin our reputation. Marvel leaps back up to his feet, stabbing down into Seven's chest multiple times with his kukri.

There! Fire Girl, District Twelve! There's another tribute, wresting with her. Nine. I see a flash of orange, a backpack. One thought thrums through my head. _Got to kill Twelve. _Nine's in the way, though. I send a knife at him, and the blade impales itself in his back. He falls away, leaving Fire Girl a clear target. I launch a knife at her neck, but she hikes up that orange backpack to protect it. The deadly blade lodges into the pack and I shout out in frustration. Now I've given her a knife! Not like she can use it, but it's still a weapon! I'm tempted to go after her, but I can't leave the bloodbath like this! I snarl and return to the horn.

**Finch II**

Two, one. The gong rings out and I'm filled with fear. I don't hesitate to immediately bolt around the circle of empty plates, to the woods.

I don't stop until I'm a good hundred yards into the concealing forest. I duck behind a tree, pausing to catch my breath. As soon as I start sprinting again, I almost immediately crash into the District Twelve girl, the two of us falling to the ground. She's covered in blood, and terrified. My eyes dart around in fear. Nobody's chasing her. She's not wounded. Could she be scared of _me? _Of course not. That's impossible. I don't even have a weapon. But that doesn't stop us both from scrambling to our feet, darting away in opposite directions as fast as our legs can carry us.

I arrive at a tall, thick cedar tree with a huge branch-perfect for resting on-between forty and fifty feet up. There aren't any lower limbs to climb, but I spot another cedar-much smaller-but if I got most of the way up it, I'll be able to get on the branch of the larger tree. I scale the shorter tree moderately easily, but this next part will be more of a challenge. I step up another branch, still hanging on, but then let go with my hands and hook them around the thick bough, hauling myself onto the broad limb. Safe.

For now.

**Clove III**

The cannons fire eleven times. Eleven pictures appear in the sky tonight. The girl from Three comes up first. Then the boy from Four, Breck. The boy from Five. Both tributes from Six and Seven. I already know about Seven, I killed one and helped with the other! I smirk. Boy from Eight. Both from Nine-I killed the boy-and the girl from Ten. There's one more burst of music, and then the sky goes dark.

I stare at the fire us Careers are huddled around. It crackles like the anger I feel towards the girl who wore those flames. _Why didn't I go after Fire Girl when she ran from the bloodbath? I should have! But now, I have all this time for the fun of the hunt. Letting Twelve go can't be too bad, can it? Now I'll be able to hunt her,_ I repeat in my mind. Cato is the first to speak.

"Who did each of you kill? How many?" he asks us. "I got two. Breck and Six."

"But _I'm _the one who got Six!" Glimmer whines. "And the girl from Ten!"

"You must've got the _girl _from Six," I explain irritably to Glimmer. She is such an _idiot! _"Cato got the boy. I got the boys from Nine and Seven."

"Showoff," Glimmer mutters darkly.

"Girls from Seven and Nine," Marvel announces. "Easy prey."

_You're the one who's showing off!_

"Marina, you got anyone? The guy from Eight? Five? Or the girl from Three?" Cato asks the District Four tribute.

Marina is turning red as she admits, embarrassed, "No." She pulls herself tighter, away from the firelight.

"We should get some rest. Then wake up when it's _really _early, and hunt tributes. They won't be expecting it as much then," I give my opinion. "Set up the tent," I order Lover Boy.

He says that he knows how to find Fire Girl. That's the only thing keeping him alive. If she dies some other way, his cannon's going off as soon as the picture's projected.

He immediately unzips the tent pack and pulling out the sticks and cover. Lover Boy also dies if he doesn't obey our Career Pack.

"Tarp first, you idiot!" I remind him.

"Why shouldn't we go hunting now?" complains Marvel. "Let's go." He scoops up three of his spears.

"Because Glimmer can't do anything. She's technically asleep!" I exclaim. I gesture to the District One girl, who has started to fall into a sleepy trance.

Lover Boy's failure excuse for a semi- set up tent clatters to the ground. "Oh, Marina, you just do it!" I shout.

Marina sets up the tent in a few minutes. I immediately claim the cot, before anyone else can open their mouths.

As I settle in, I fantasize about hunting and killing Fire Girl. Slowly.

**Finch III**

Eleven cannons. Eleven dead in the bloodbath. _Twelve to go, including me._ The girl from Three is first, followed by the boy from Four. He never looked as strong as the rest of the Career Tributes anyway. Both from Six and Seven. The male tribute from District Eight, both tributes from Nine, and the girl from Ten.

It's sort of amazing that the small District Eleven female tribute survived. Inside, I'm a bit grateful. No one but the Careers would ever want her to die. Really, she looks like a seven-year-old!

Now, to decide if I should go to sleep. I don't have anything to tie myself up in this tree, so if I stay up here I'll have to stay awake. But if I go down to the ground, I chance the Careers murdering me in my sleep.

Better to take my chances up here.

I'm in a bad situation right here. Not going to the bloodbath cost me supplies, but it most likely saved my life. No food, no water, but while I have life in me I still have a chance. Not a chance to win, though. Not a chance to win.


	7. Arena: Day Two

**Clove I**

I am awakened by a gentle shove, and I swing my legs off of the cot and tackle the tribute before I realize that it's Marina.

"Knife away from the throat," she says. "It's your watch." I get off of her and take my place outside the tent.

The sky isn't even that dark, dark enough to know it's night, but it's just a dim blue-gray. I scan the edge of the forest first, then look at the gaps between the trees for a glimpse of flickering orange. Finding none, I go to the other side of the tent and perform the same actions there. It's useless, though. No one in their right mind would light a fire now. They would know us Careers are watching for any sign of them.

I drag an empty crate over to the front of the tent and sit down. _This is going to be a long two hours,_ I think.

Somewhere around thirty minutes in, Marina comes out of the tent and pulls up another crate. We sit in silence for a few minutes until I speak.

"It's my watch. And anyway, Marvel's next. You just finished yours."

"Can't sleep," Marina replies. She's staring in the general direction of the forest, but she's not focusing on anything.

"Is it Breck?" I inquire. Cato himself killed Marina's district partner in the bloodbath.

"No." She's quiet for a minute. "It's the Games."

The Games? _I know she's going to die—I'm going to win, but why didn't anyone who had a better chance volunteer? _I think._ Anyone who doesn't want to go into the Games has a volunteer that wants to in my district._

"Just, even though I'm trained, I'm scared," Marina says. "In addition to everyone killing whoever isn't their ally, allies can still turn on you. You could starve. Dehydrate. Get killed by an earthquake or something. Mutts. The arena is _made of fear_." She's trembling now, on the verge of tears. "I know this sort of talk can get me killed, but I'm dead anyway. It's not like I'm going to win. I don't have a chance."

"Get back in the tent," I snarl. She can't talk like that in the arena! _But she'll be dead soon anyway._

She begins to slink back into the tent, but then stops. "We should hunt. It's early enough so the tributes won't expect it."

"Saying that just to cover up your little speech, the one that'll get you killed?" I taunt, but then get serious. "Yes. I did suggest it in the first place, last night."

"I'll wake up Glimmer and Marvel," she says. "And Lover Boy." I can't argue with her and make her wake up Cato; he'll probably snap her neck. I will be able to get away fast enough, or defend myself.

**Finch I**

I hug my knees to my chest, trying to keep the warmth with me. I have to keep the cold from settling in my bones, otherwise I would freeze.

I try to plan for tomorrow to distract me from the cold. Food, food, how to get food. I know a few edible plants; I should try to find something. As for water, I think the only source is the lake. With the Careers guarding it, it will be nearly impossible to get the water. And forget water purifier, I'll never be able to get _that_!

My mouth is already dry with thirst, and my stomach is rumbling with hunger. I had eaten a lot in the Launch Room, also drank enough water to sink a ship, but that was yesterday morning. I estimate that it's around four or five a.m. now.

I shiver against the cold. It's settling in my bones, I hope the sun rises soon. I need its warmth. I need its light to find food with.

Light. Not just the sun's light, I need the light of life. I'm half dead here in the cold, starving and thirsty, fingers numb.

_I should have run for the Cornucopia, grabbed a blanket or water, then I'd last longer! Huh. I'd been worried about the other tributes killing me mostly, I'd known that these sorts of things can kill me too, but I didn't much expect to be killed by them. At least a knife in the back would have been quick._

I stand on the broad cedar limb to get my body moving again. It's about the fifth or sixth time I've done this tonight, but it does little to improve the temperature. I flex my shoulders and fingers first, then grab at the trunk of the tree so I won't fall as I stretch my legs. Then I sit back down and grit my teeth, waiting for dawn.

** Clove II**

We enter the forest through a patch of trees that we use for weapons practice. All the trees are scored with slashes from Cato's and Marina's swords, my knives left slitted holes, and there are also larger holes made by Marvel's spears. Glimmer has close to no tiny arrow holes in the trees; she misses most of the time. _I wonder why we keep her in the alliance._

We tested the edges of the forest around the dirt plain yesterday afternoon, to see which area we would be able to exit through the most silently. The path we are walking now, the pine needles are less brittle, less likely to snap. Lover Boy and Cato can't really keep quiet though, but we should still be able to find someone.

"_Fire!"_ Marvel stage-whispers. "Over there!"

All six pairs of eyes are drawn to the flicker. Glimmer breaks into a run, and the rest of us follow suit. I hope it's Fire Girl, hope she's idiotic enough, hope that it's her death that will be next. _Ha,_ I imagine. _Fire Girl killed because she lit a fire. I like that._

The fire starter has apparently dozed off, but she's awakened by our loud footsteps cracking branches and pine needles.

Cato draws his sword, and the blade glints in the firelight as he advances. The girl, who I now recognize as the one from District Eight—not Fire Girl, sadly—whirls around and backs away, whimpering.

"Don't kill me, please—AARRGH!" She screams as she trips on the rock rim around the fire, falling into the flames. _Why can't you be Fire Girl? _

Cato moves toward her, and I can tell the only though in his head is, _kill, kill, kill. _But he doesn't stab her directly, just her leg, _deep. _That should be painful. But she'll be gone soon. She's just rolling on the ground, moaning. She doesn't have enough energy even to scream.

"Twelve down, eleven to go!" yells Marvel, sure Eight's a goner. We all cheer, but I'm thinking, _Including you. I'm winning this thing._

Glimmer checks the girl for supplies, but she doesn't find anything good. A backpack filled with an eaten apple, a bit of string, and some extra kindling. Useless.

We get only a few hundred yards away from the girl's carcass before Marina says, "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I'd say yes," I add. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead," Marvel argues.

"She's dead," Cato says confidently. "I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?" I challenge defiantly. I'm the only one brave enough to do that.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," Glimmer interjects.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," says Marvel lazily.

"I said she's dead!" Cato yells.

We all start arguing whether Eight's dead or not, me taking Marina's side. Lover Boy interrupts,

"We're wasting time!" he shouts. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

"Go on, then, Lover Boy," Cato urges. "See for yourself."

Once he's out of earshot, Glimmer whispers, "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?"

"Let him tag along," Marvel says. "What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife."

Has that District One boy _met _me? I can best anyone with a knife, I bet I could even beat the victors Enobaria, Aksia, Ellanus, anyone! _You just got on my bad side, District One!_

"Besides, he's our best chance of finding her." Surprisingly it's Marina, but she's probably still just trying to cover for her rebellious speech.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" says Cato.

"She might have," argues Marvel. "Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke."

_Me too,_ I think. "Wish we knew how she got that eleven."

"Bet you Lover Boy knows." It's Glimmer.

I hear the mentioned Lover Boy returning and silence everyone.

"Was she dead?" Cato growls.

"No. But she is now," says Lover Boy. The cannon fires to confirm his words. "Ready to move on?"

We all jog back to the camp, and the sun breaks over the horizon as we arrive.

_We got someone before the day even started._

** Finch II**

I feel myself slipping into a sleepy trance and pinch my thigh to keep me alert. The last thing I need is to succumb to the urge to rest and plummet to the ground, breaking every bone in my body, including my skull and spine. I'd be dead on impact.

I pinch myself at least ten times in the next five minutes. It's harder than ever to stay awake. I've been awake since the night before the arena, it's killing me.

Ha-ha-ha. So funny. 'Killing me'.

Sometime around half an hour later, I hear a distant scream, and flinch at the sudden noise. It's far enough away from me that I don't worry about the Career Pack, and I try to tell myself that it's one less opponent, but I still feel horrible that someone is dying.

It's a few minutes later that there's a cannon, and I inwardly shudder at how long it took. The hovercraft's claw descends around where I estimated it would, and drags up the carcass.

There's a hint of orange-white at the horizon and my head snaps around to stare at it. _The sun. It's coming up. _I don't tear my gaze away from it's life-giving light until it's too bright to bear. I just sit there smiling slightly as I look down at the cedar wood.

I clench and unclench my fists to get my fingers moving again. I grab the smaller cedar, which is pretty much my ladder to up here, and swing onto it. Where I am to the top of the tree shakes for a few seconds, but then levels out. I breathe out a sigh of relief as I climb downwards.

Due to my exhaustion, it takes longer to get down than it took to get up yesterday. I somehow get it through my muddled head that I should hide my red hair; anyone who's not blind can see it! I climb up the cedar again, but only a few feet high. I went higher because if someone saw broken branches and shoulder height, they would know that I was here. Higher, Careers won't see. I rip out a few small sticks with needles on them and stick them into my hair. I try to make them stick out as haphazardly as possible, so that my shape is less humanoid. If someone were to see my shadow, it would be in the shape of a person. But if I mess up the shape of my shadow, it won't be as noticeable. I learned about this in training; I think it's called 'breaking up your form' or something.

I grab more branches and stick them in my sleeves, the needles hiding my hands. I attempt to put some in a position so that they would cover the gap in between my legs, but there isn't a good angle to do that. I settle for putting some surrounding my head and thrusting upwards, hiding the outline of my head.

When I finish, I get down again and crouch behind a bush. After glancing around for other tributes, paranoid, I get out and make my way stealthily through the forest.

I've been hiking for about forty-five minutes, with constant breaks to rest, when I come across a clearing. At first I plan to skirt around it—the Careers might see me—but then I realize that they shouldn't be anywhere in the area. This is where they were last night. And how do you find a tribute in the middle of the night? _They light a fire._ I stride into the clearing, search for the remnants of a fire. I see some ash, but the fire is out, dirt kicked over it. But this is good, great actually, I found some ash! I quickly streak it all over my face to hide the light color of my skin; it's pretty much human-only.

Now that I'm sufficiently camouflaged, I should focus on water. Well, purifier first—water's no good when you can't drink it.

An idiotic, foolish plan begins to form in my head. One that'll get me killed for sure.

I'm going to steal from the Careers.

**Clove III**

Cato, Lover Boy, and I have been combing the woods for an hour and not yet found anyone.

Glimmer and Marvel are taking the east side of the arena; we're taking the west. Marina's guarding our supplies, Lover Boy not being trustworthy enough, and the rest of us wanting to search for tributes.

Cato scores the ground with his sword in frustration. Then he stabs a fir tree.

I aim a knife at a thin branch over Cato's head. It is severed and falls on my district partner.

"You're not helping, Cato," I snarl. "We're _tracking_ here." I stride ahead of him and yank the knife out of the spruce it's embedded in.

Wait, maybe I should have dropped the branch on Lover Boy. He's the one who's being loud here.

Surprisingly, instead of going crazy and destroying more stuff, Cato just nods and keeps walking. Huh.

**Finch III**

I'm at the edge of the dirt plain, observing their guard system. The girl from Four is guarding the supplies at the moment, and the thought that I'm lucky it isn't one of the District Two tributes crosses my mind.

Just her, between the camp and pile of supplies. Nothing and no one else. _I can sneak around to the other side of the pile that she's on, and then find some supplies._

Once I've snuck to what I think the angle is so that I won't be spotted, I begin to mentally make a list of what I need. Water purifier, I need water. A blanket or sleeping bag, to keep warm. Food, I'm starving. Rope, to tie myself in at night so I'll be able to sleep. Oh, and already-purified water is good too. Save me the trouble of trying to get to the lake.

The plain is empty, now's a time as good as ever to make my move. I dart out onto the flatland, and quickly make my way to the pyramid. I find a large green backpack, and I unzip it to find some packs of nuts, pepperoni sticks, rope, two medium containers of water purifier, and an empty water bottle. There's a blanket a yard away, so I grab that and stuff it as quietly as I can into the backpack.

But I'm not quiet enough. The District Four girl must have heard me, and is screaming, "Thief! Thief! Cato! Clove! Glimmer! Marvel! Cato! GET HERE _NOW_!"

She rushes at me with a drawn sword, but I'm halfway across the plain by now with the backpack. I make it into the cover of the forest and don't stop running despite my fatigue.

Somehow I wind up at the cedar I spent the night in last night. I manage to haul myself up the ladder tree and onto the broad limb of the big cedar.

I dig the rope out of my pack and get it around the branch I'm sitting on. I lay down flat and tie the rope around me, securing myself to the tree.

Sleep comes within five minutes.

**Clove IV**

"Thief! Thief!" I hear Marina yelling. "Cato! Clove! Glimmer! Marvel! Cato! GET HERE _NOW_!"

Cato and I wheel around and go at a sprint towards our camp. I get the feeling Lover Boy is following, but I don't really pay attention to him as we charge to the camp to catch the thief. _Stealing from the Careers! How _dare _they?!_

We burst out on the flat plain just to see Marina storming furiously out of the woods on the other side.

I know she didn't get the thief from the enraged expression on her face.

"Who was it?" I ask, because if Fire Girl got away, I'm killing Marina myself.

"Don't know. Think it was either of the girls from Five or Eleven," Marina answers. "With any luck, Marvel or Glimmer'll get her. She ran into the area they're patrolling."

"What'd she take?" Cato demands.

"Nothing much; just a backpack. Big green one. I think it had rope and food in it, but no weapons," reports Marina.

I hear footsteps running in our direction. I whirl around, knife ready to throw, but then realize the footsteps belong to Marvel and Glimmer.

"So?" asks Marvel. "Did you get him?"

"Does it _look_ like we got her?" Marina snarls, stabbing her sword into the earth.

Hmm. I wonder if I would be doing that too if I had a sword. It seems like a popular thing to do with that weapon.

"All of us search the part of the forest she went in to," Cato orders, stalking forward with his sword in front of him, determination glinting in his eyes. "No one steals from the Careers. We're gonna find that thief."

We fall into the same wolf-stalking-prey gait, drawing our weapons, intent on bringing the death of the thief.

**Whoo, longest chapter yet! How was it? Remember, review—constructive criticism, suggestions, please!**


	8. Arena: Day Three

**Thank you for the reviews; they mean a lot to me! And for a question about chapter seven: Yes, in the section marked 'Clove II' I did use the dialogue from the book. I do not own the Hunger Games.**

**Clove I**

It's a really stupid idea to push me out of bed, as Marvel finds out.

Yes, at the moment I am attacking him. He should have seen it coming; does he _know _me? No, not really, no one really knows me. But he's seen my score in training, he's seen me throw knives, he's seen my fight with Daphne, _he has seen what I do._

I kick Marvel in the chest, stunning him for a second, and punch him in the face. I hook my foot around his ankle and pull him to the ground, then kick him in the chest again. _There,_ I think. _That should show him._

He springs up and yells indignantly, "What was that for?!"

"You don't get it by now?" I shout back. "Well, would you push _Cato _out of bed? _Same deal!"_

Marvel glares at me but backs off. He at least knows when someone else is winning.

"You're on guard duty," I snarl at him, readying one of my knives as I stalk in the direction of the forest. Cato, Glimmer, Marina, and Lover Boy follow me, but Cato soon gets in front. He's officially the leader, but I tend to give out more orders.

A few minutes in, I am tensing up and gripping my knife too tightly because Lover Boy's loud footsteps are driving me insane. I angrily swipe the knife at him, making a shallow cut on his face. Lover Boy backs off, hands in the air.

"We're _trying_ to hunt here," I growl. "If _you _want to stay alive, you're gonna help us find Fire Girl."

All of us Careers are in bad moods today. Not catching anybody yesterday, not the thief, not Fire Girl. I'm lashing out at everyone. Marvel shoved me out of bed. Cato destroyed all of the trees that we train on last night. Glimmer has retreated into angry silence. Marina searched for tributes as long as she could keep her eyes open last night.

I turn away from Lover Boy, glaring at everything in front of me. I don't even try to loosen my features. I scour everything that I see for signs of human life—but find nothing.

Nothing. It may be just and hour or two after dawn, but there's no excitement so far. There has to be something to keep the audience hooked.

**Finch I**

I wake with a burning thirst, a stomach rumbling like thunder, and fingers and toes just beginning to warm up. I find the sun well up in the sky. I slept for nearly twenty-four hours! And I can already make a list of three stupid things I've done.

One, I didn't eat anything at all before I went to sleep. Two, I forgot to take my blanket out of the pack to keep warm. Three, I did not tie my backpack in. Luckily I used it as a pillow, so it is still up here.

I sit up and unzip the backpack, drag a pepperoni stick out. I eat half of it before I realize I should save my food.

And now that I have purifier, I can get some water. I untie the rope from around myself and shove it into the green backpack. Swiftly climbing down the ladder tree, I make it to the ground with little difficulty. Some strength renewed from sleep, I think I can make it to the lake.

I focus all of my energy on not making a trail that the Careers could pick up. Stealthily stepping over dead branches, avoiding small ground plants that can be easily crushed.

Once I am in sight of the lake, I take great care to skirt around the lake, even though the Careers—most of them at least—will be out hunting tributes. At the opposite side of the lake as the Career camp, I risk coming out onto the shore. My water bottle is already uncapped, and I dart to the water line and hold it underwater. I wait for the bubbles to stop; that shows that the bottle is full. I pull it back up into the air and cap it, then bolt into the cover of the woods.

I'm several hundred yards in when I deem it safe enough to stop. I sit down with my back against a tree and unscrew the lid of the water bottle. I dig a container of water purifying solution out of my backpack and put three drops of it into the water. I think I'm supposed to wait for fifteen to twenty minutes, and I count the seconds in my head.

_Eighteen fifty-six, eighteen fifty-seven, eighteen fifty-eight, eighteen fifty-nine, nineteen minutes! _Nineteen should be long enough, that's on the upper end between fifteen and twenty. I bring the canteen to my lips and desperately gulp some of the water before I remember not to drink it all at once.

I take it slowly from there, and eventually empty the bottle. I take it back to the lake two or three more times before I am hydrated again. One more time I fill the flask, then stow it in my backpack and I creep off in search of food.

Hey, those nuts and pepperoni sticks won't last forever.

**Clove II**

"Broken branch!" Marina hisses. "See, there!" She points. I see it. Pine branch, covered in lichen, and snapped clean down the middle—clearly from careless feet. We're in front of Cato and Lover Boy, so they couldn't have done it.

"And there," I say, pointing. "Branches cut down; looks like they've been hacked at. Knife." Knife because if it were a machete or sword, the branch would have been severed in a clean cut. This is notched with multiple cuts through the branch, giving us many clues about the tribute. His or her only weapon is a knife most likely, either not all that smart or just not knowing about leaving trails, and probably not very strong.

District Two trainees learn to track tributes from an early age and pick up clues about their strengths and weaknesses. I've been learning how to do this for a long time, but when I catch Glimmer staring at me, I know she's impressed. District Two has a better training system, and this confirms it.

"Lover Boy," Cato orders, "stay here. Can't have you making noise to _alert _the others." His words don't sound threatening by themselves, but his tone of voice thinly veils a threat.

"Glimmer, make sure he doesn't run off," I add.

For once, Cato manages to be decently quiet. But once we see the boy from District Three, all that is forgotten. We're about twenty feet away when Cato charges the boy.

He's upon the smaller tribute within seconds, pinning him against a tree and showing the short, heavy blade of his sword.

Marina and I emerge from the trees, enclosing the small boy—he can't be over thirteen or fourteen, and small for his age.

"Wait!" Three yelps. "I can—I can protect your supplies!"

Cato doesn't lower his sword, but does ask, "How?" Because he knows that we shouldn't leave one of our own back at camp, we should all be out tracking. It's a waste of time to guard the supplies—what is this boy talking about?

"The mines," Three gets out. "The ones around the plates. I can dig them up—reactivate them. We can plant them around your supplies, but leave a path so we can get to them. Anyone who tries to steal them will be blown up."

"The plan sounds good—" Marina says.

"—but if you mess up, you'll pay for it with your life," Cato finishes.

**Finch II**

Farther into the forest, I hear the burbling of a creek. _A creek? _I think at first. _Why's there a creek? The Gamemakers wouldn't do that; it would lessen chance of fighting over water._

But then it dawns on me that the lake has to be fed with a stream of some sort, and that this is better for me—I won't have to take the risk of being spotted at the lake. Maybe I should set up a camp of sorts here, near water. I wouldn't have to trek all the way back here multiple times each day for water, the stream would be right next to me! This day is just full of luck for me.

Of course, this means that the Gamemakers will be up to something soon. Can't have a tribute getting it too easy. Then again, they let the Careers train. But, they're problems for each other.

A few feet away, I spot a patch of dandelions. One of the only plants that I know I can trust to be edible, I pull several of the blooms off of their stems and eat about four or five.

Oh, wow, those things are _bitter. _Seriously, how can something natural be _that_ bitter? I resist the urge to spit the flowers out and make myself swallow them. I force myself to consume the stems and leaves of the plants I picked, despite the bitterness. My sense about knowing to get food when I can overrides the horrible taste.

What are the Gamemakers planning? I have food, water, and no injuries so far. It's not like them to leave me as unscathed as this. _Maybe they're just busy with something else, _I think. _Maybe there's a really good fight going on somewhere. With Careers like those ones from Two, there should be something good. And all the Capitol people love Katniss—one of the star-crossed lovers, the Girl on Fire, the one who scored an eleven in training._

Ah yes, shelter. The weather can't stay warm for the whole time I'm in the arena.

I learned many types of shelters while in training, but the majority of them were set in varieties of biomes. Swamp, jungle, tundra, desert, and prairie also went along with temperate forests, so there are actually few shelters that I know how to build from the woods that I am in.

The debris hut is the one that I remember the best, though I can't quite make it rainproof. Then again, I've only tried it once in training. I was mostly focused on the edible plants—yet I still am nervous about eating anything. Well, besides the dandelions.

I set about collecting sticks and branches for the skeleton of the shelter. There are actually tons of dead pine branches just lying around on the ground. I leave them in a pile in the clearing, and next I gather branches with the needles still on. There are a few dead ones that are on the pine needle covered ground, but most I have to rip live from trees. I attempt to get up into the trees I tear the branches from, so the Careers don't spot the broken limbs.

Sadly there are no ferns in this type of woods, but the ground is practically made of pine needles, and a dead fir tree that had fallen nearby provides a source for large pieces of bark.

Once I had stripped the bark from the fallen fir, I consider building my debris hut up against it. That way I will only have to build one side, and also I will not have to worry about it balancing properly. And with all the materials I have collected, it will be twice as thick. It might even be rainproof.

Yes, that's what I will do. I lay the thick sticks I have selected for the skeleton against the log, and then rest the branches that are still needle-covered on top of them.

As a difference from the shady forest, the blazing sun is beating down on me in this clearing. The log may just be the edge of the clearing, but it's still burning hot. I take off the black jacket and tie it around my waist as I place handfuls of dead pine needles on top of my in-progress debris hut.

In reply to a loud growl of hunger, I finish the pepperoni stick that I started this morning. It only quiets my stomach for about thirty seconds, and I allow myself a pack of nuts.

Then I resort to dandelions again. It's a good thing that there are a lot of them.

**Clove III**

Back at our camp, the rest of the Careers and I supervise Lover Boy and Three, whose name I believe is Dem, dig up the mines. Cato joins in to speed up the process, and so do Marina and I. Marvel is a bit more hesitant, being from One, but he helps by loosening the dirt up with his spear. I just can't believe that Glimmer is actually a Career, because she actually refuses to help because she doesn't want to trip and fall on a rock or something foolish like that. It's ridiculous. I might just kill her myself.

I move on from my third mine to one that is surrounded by dirt loosened up by Marvel. Surprisingly, there are shovels in our pile of supplies. Five of them, as Cato, Marina, Dem, Lover Boy and I are the only ones using them. Marvel doesn't need one; he's using one of his many spears anyway, and it's just another excuse for Glimmer to be lazy, useless, and pathetic. She claims she's watching the supplies, but I catch her using a wide sword blade as a mirror. Really, how idiotic and vain is that? We're in the_ Hunger Games!_

I strike the ground hard, and heave up a great big heap of dry soil. I dump it onto the growing pile next to the hole and drive the shovel back into the earth. I am beginning to understand why Cato and Marina like to stab their swords into the ground.

Five minutes later, I'm taking my jacket off and gulping down some water—the day is hot, and we're toiling in the direct sunlight, on the dirt plain. Marina is right with me emptying half of her water bottle within seconds. What I really want is shade, but we have to get those mines out of the ground. Especially since watching tributes dig in the dirt must be boring—the Gamemakers will be up to something any time now, and we must finish our defense plan before whatever trick they're up to. Maybe Dem taking the risk of assisting us is good enough for the time being, but that twist won't last for long.

I get back to the hole I'm working on. Over half of the mines are dug up; they are not buried very deep. And according to Dem, it does not matter if we hit the mines hard with our shovels—they are very durable when not activated.

Then next strike I make clangs against metal, and within two minutes I have the mine out of the ground. I think that there are about seven or eight left to dig out before we plant them around our supplies and Dem reactivates them.

I can hear clinks of metal as Glimmer tries to find the best sword to use for a mirror. The irritating noises and her unbelievable vanity soon drive me crazy.

"Glimmer!" I finally yell. "Get over here and dig!"

"But I don't have a shovel!" she complains, but it's a poor excuse.

"Then get a stick or use your hands!" I shout back. "Enough of standing around and being lazy! Quit looking at yourself and start being useful before I knife you!"

"Lazy!" Glimmer exclaims indignantly. "I'm not _lazy!"_ She dashes to the edge of the woods and quickly locates a thick, stout stick. Soon she's digging along with the rest of us.

She says that she did it because she doesn't want to be looked on as lazy, but I think it was the knife threat. Knife threats from me always work well.

**Finch III**

I place the last few pieces of bark on top of my shelter, then take the blanket out of my backpack and stick it in there. The debris hut is a good deal larger than the one I made in training, and I am able to fit into it along with my pack.

I crawl out of the shelter and drink half of my purified water. Now, what else should I do? What did I learn in training? I have food, water, and shelter. The air is good. I can't risk a fire. Scout the area for tributes, yes, that's a good idea.

I leave the backpack in the shelter when I exit the clearing to look out for danger. Avoiding branches and easily crushed plants as I always do now, I go in semicircles of varying radius around my riverside camp.

I find no tributes or mutts in the area, and the sky is beginning to darken. It will soon be night, and I hurry back to camp.

There, I consume one pepperoni stick and many of the bitter dandelions. Hopefully I will grow used to them and the bitterness won't bother me so much. Actually, I believe that I heard the edible plants trainer mention that dandelions are better cooked, but I can't risk building a fire. I don't have the supplies to make a fire anyway.

I go backwards on my hands and knees into the debris hut, but I lie awake for quite a while.

Not like up in the tree where I felt safe, down on the ground I feel more exposed to the Careers. What if they find my shelter and come kill me? It's not like it's camouflaged. Actually, it most likely sticks out if anything. Although I could have fallen out of the tree to my death at any second, it was much more hidden.

I wrap the blanket around me more and try to let sleep claim me. My weariness must override my paranoia because I somehow slip into unconsciousness.

**Clove IV**

_Done! _I think as the hole for the last deactivated mine is filled in. Dem has wires connected to the twenty-four mines so he can activate them without them being set off by the dirt we fill in the holes with. Each of us besides Lover Boy, even Dem, have a map on a clear path to get to the supplies without being blown sky-high. Dem does something with the wires and there is a fizzling sound for a few seconds, then it goes quiet.

"Well?" Cato demands. "Are they activated?"

Dem just nods and backs away from the supply pile.

I stow the map in my pack, which also contains a good deal of extra food and water, as all of us—well, not Dem—stalk to the piney forest. Dem is staying behind with a spear, _just in case _the mines were just a trick.

A knife is ready in my hands, and we keep hunting until Marvel decides it must be close to midnight.

"Let's just stay out here for the night," I suggest. "We won't have to go all the way back to camp, and what'd be so bad about it anyway?"

"Clove is right," Marina says. "We should just stay out here. Also, the rest of the tributes will be expecting us to be at camp. Might give them a little surprise in the morning."

The other four agree—a bit of hesitation from Glimmer, though—and we settle down as soon as we find a spot big enough for all six of us. I close my eyes and the exhaustion of digging all day catches up to me, pulling me into sleep.

**I think you can tell that I don't like Marvel, Peeta, and Glimmer all that much by now. Keep up the reviews—I think we can do better than nine!**


	9. Arena: Day Four

**Clove I**

Smoke. But apparently Marina and Cato already noticed it and all of us are already on our feet fleeing the fire. Well, Glimmer's still asleep and I'm tempted to leave her, but Marvel helps her up and now we're all running.

I don't spot any flames, but the smoke is thick. The fire is definitely near—close enough that there is a deer or two bolting away from it. Though we can't see the fire yet, we have to run to get out of its path. Smoke is actually more deadly than flames—it can suffocate you extremely easily. Glimmer yells out as she trips over a small log and falls but I keep running.

My throat and nose are burning already. When I begin coughing it feels as if my lungs are being ripped at with each cough. My eyes are watering because of the smoke. In a matter of minutes each breath is accompanied with a stab of pain.

I never planned on running in the Games. I'm a Career, I _fight!_ I don't run away . . . but this is a fire. We don't have water to put it out, and even if we did it would do no damage against a weapon of the Gamemakers. And we're just in the smoke—nothing to put out here.

Gamemakers are the real danger. Tributes can be killed, but things like fires and floods and earthquakes just can't be prevented. You can defend yourself to a degree, but you can't fight them.

Yes, the smoke is definitely thinning by now. I catch a glimpse of the rising sun through the smoke and trees, and put on an extra burst of speed. In less than a minute we arrive on the plain, gasping, sputtering and hacking out coughs. Most of us fall to our hands and knees, and by that I mean everyone besides Cato. _Ah, _I can see now! I hate not seeing; it makes me feel confused.

But there is one thing that I do not want to see—that idiot Glimmer still alive. She may be on her hands and knees, retching and coughing, but she is vain and foolish, stupid and pathetic. She is no Career. Neither is Marina, with her breakdown during the first night. Cato and I are real Careers, with our strength, weapon skills, and eagerness to be in the Games. Marvel, he may be annoying, but he's good with those spears. He _did_ volunteer.

I get up onto my feet and realize that I'm clutching a knife in a death grip. I relax my hand a little and swing my backpack in front of me, then unzip it and dig out one of my two water bottles. I unscrew the cap and drain the whole thing, immediately feeling much better.

"This is all your fault," Glimmer croaks out once she has gathered enough energy to drink some water and speak. "Your idea to spend the night out there without a camp. We could've died in that fire!"

"Well, you're gonna die anyway, One!" I snarl defensively. "I'm the victor here, not you! Why shouldn't I just kill you _now?"_

"Bring it on," she growls, reaching for the long dagger at her belt.

"You know I can get a knife in you before that thing's in your hand!" I snap.

"Oh, I didn't know that—because it's not true!" she taunts.

"We'll see about that," I hiss, bringing my hand back into the position to throw the knife. "And it's not like you can do archery anyway!"

"Break it up!" Marvel finally blares out, striding between us. I reluctantly lower my knife and back away, but can't resist shooting a glare at Glimmer.

Hmm, this is the first time I've seen Glimmer act like this. She's always weak, girly, and prissy—this is different.

**Finch I**

I wake to the smell of smoke. I nearly bolt upright, but then I remember that I have a roof that will probably be destroyed if my head crashes into it. Instead, I wriggle out of the debris hut and stand on top of the log. I can't see any flames, so the fire is most likely on the other side of the arena. Which means if I can smell the smoke from here, it's got to be a whopping great big fire.

I drink the remaining half of the water in the canteen, and then refill it in the creek next to my camp. Dripping a few drops of purifying solution into it, I leave it sitting in the grass of the clearing for a while.

I down a few dandelions, still cringing at the bitter taste. Now, who's left? There are both from One and Two, the boy from Three, girl from Four, me, the girl from Eight, the boy from District Ten, and both from Eleven and Twelve. But one of them died in the morning of the second day—I was asleep before the picture was in the sky, so I don't know which one. Remembering the scream, I think it was a girl. A victim of the Careers, so she would have to be either the girl from Eight, Eleven, or Twelve. By process of elimination, I am nearly positive that it was Eight. I'm guessing that with a score of eleven, the Girl on Fire would be too intelligent to do that. Same with tiny Eleven; I saw her acing the edible plants test and climbing around like a squirrel. Squirrel Girl, that's a good name for her.

Twelve left.

Eleven to die.

One to win.

My water should be purified by now. I twist the lid so it's locked tight, and then shove it back into my backpack. I eat a half a pack of nuts before creeping into the forest as the sun rises. Maybe I'll be able to find something to eat.

**Clove II**

When all traces of smoke have died away, the six of us begin our daily

hunt. We go in the direction that the smoke was thickest—there has to be a tribute that was caught in the flames. Since we heard no cannon, someone should be injured. Easy prey—and hopefully Fire Girl. Of course when the Gamemakers saw her flaming costumes this is the first thing they thought of. Ironic for fire to be the end of the Girl on Fire. The three full water bottles I stuffed into my backpack are weighing me down, but I have to find Fire Girl wounded. I'm certain that Fire Girl is the one that the Gamemakers targeted.

Lover Boy is back to his loud, branch-cracking footsteps. My teeth are gritted just like they were a day ago, and for the same reason. I quicken my steps for a few seconds as I make my way past Cato and Lover Boy to the front of the group. If they're behind me, then they can't be snapping branches in front of me, so this way it is much easier to find tracks.

"There's no one here," Marina announces. "We'd best go in another direction."

For once I have to say I agree with her, but Glimmer says so first. Marvel has been automatically going with anything Glimmer says since the fire, including this.

Marina turns a good deal to our left and begins walking, but most of us are in front of her once she got the direction she's going in clear.

About an hour or two later, I can tell that we're getting a good deal closer to Fire Girl when I sight a smoldering branch, not in flames anymore but still burning. Cato points it out, but Glimmer's the only one who hasn't seen it yet. I roll my eyes—she's back to her pathetic self. In a few minutes she is probably going to complain about being tired and that we should head back to camp. So I'm actually quite surprised when it's Marina that calls for a break after a few hours. And that Glimmer kept her mouth shut for that long. But, Glimmer is obviously relieved as we all take our seats on the ground, leaning against trees.

"We haven't had a kill since Eight!" snarls Marvel. "That was days ago."

"I _know_," I agree. "It's driving me crazy. But someone's got to be burned from the fire." Even our voices are raspy from the smoke.

"Also, the fire was meant to drive us together," Marina puts in. "The Gamemakers got someone near us." The words seem just like a casual observation, but I am reminded of her speech the first night. The whole thing about the arena being made of fear. It's thinly veiled that she's just bringing up that the Gamemakers can murder you at the push of a button, that we're actually completely helpless in this arena—despite what we're trained to think, that we are the ones with the skill and power.

As we begin walking again, I glare at Marina_. I have been training for this my entire life. I _am_ the one with the power. She can't go around saying things like that._

I am so going to kill her.

**Finch II**

Nothing. Well, there was probably something, but I couldn't identify it if I even did see it. I am swiftly running out of food, and also swiftly running back to camp. I shouldn't be leaving my backpack there whenever I leave, that is just so _stupid _of me. It may be heavy, but it's just _sitting there_ for anyone to snatch up.

It's still there when I make it back, and I take inventory of my remaining edibles. Four pepperoni sticks, eight and a half packs of nuts, and the patch of dandelions. I still have the rope, blanket, purifier and water bottle. Not much, but it should last me the next few days.

If someone doesn't kill me first. Which they probably will.

I follow the stream back to the lake. Maybe spying would give me a slight advantage, or there might be something useful down there. The clear-watered creek has a bottom covered with large stones rounded by the pounding current, and many of the ones near the bank stick up out of the waters. There isn't any mud on the banks, just smooth pebbles, so I do not have to worry about leaving tracks.

And yes, I am rewarded for my small idea when I arrive at the lake. Only a few yards away are cattails, one of the most useful plants I learned of in training. You can use the seed fluff in the heads for insulation, and before the heads turn into seed fluff they are edible. There was another part that is edible, but I can't remember right now and I and not idiotic enough to risk trying to figure it out.

I creep towards the cattails and crush one in my hand. Fluff. I pull a good number of heads off of the water plants, about fifteen, and hurry along the stream back to my camp.

I crush one head and tuck the fluff into the few gaps I can find in the single wall of the debris hut. Then I remember something and hop over the log. Yes, it's as I suspected. There is a small, narrow gap between the log and the earth, going right under to my shelter. I rub two of the cattail heads until they are reduced to fluff, and pack it in under the log. I use up all of the heads before I am done.

I refill myself with half of the remaining dandelions and the rest of the half-eaten nut pack. I bring my backpack with me, though. It has everything in it, just in case I am prevented from coming back to camp before morning.

I don't register that I'm going in the direction of the fire from this morning until I hear footsteps. Actually, two pairs of footsteps. No, there are more than that, they are just much quieter.

And I know that there is only one alliance this big in the arena.

_The Careers are just a few hundred yards away from me._ I drop down to the dry, dusty soil as quickly as I can without making a sound. Evening is falling, so at least I'll be a good deal harder to spot in the darkness.

The footsteps have stopped, and I hold my breath in case they can hear it—my breaths are deep and ragged from fear and all that walking. They're so close I can hear their voices.

"We haven't had a kill since Eight!" I hear one of them cry in frustration. A boy—I think from One.

"I _know._ It's driving me crazy. But someone's got to be burned from the fire." Yes, I think I can agree with that. Even the voices of the Careers are raspy from the smoke.

"Also, the fire was made to drive us together. The Gamemakers got someone near us."

She got that right—I can tell she's a girl from her voice. The Gamemakers cause most of the problems, but they like to see the tributes kill each other—a lot more fun, right?

_For the audience, _I think bitterly. I wait for them to move on, and they do within ten or fifteen minutes. But they don't get far before I hear some shouts and splashes. Hmm, maybe there is a pool nearby. I think I saw one from a distance when I was coming this direction.

"Fire Girl!" one of them shouts. "Kill 'er! Kill 'er!"

"Whoo! She's dead, all right!"

"Kill her, Cato! Kill her!"

"Oh great, now what? She's climbed a tree!"

It appears that I'll be stuck here for quite a while if Katniss remains out of their reach.

**Clove III**

I glare up at Fire Girl. She's about twenty feet above the ground when she calls out teasingly, "How's everything with you?" Her voice is loaded with false enthusiasm and it just makes me want to slit her throat even more.

Cato decides to play along. "Well enough," he says. "Yourself?"

Fire Girl continues with the teasing game. "It's been a bit warm for my taste." Yep, I can see a large patch of bright red skin—clearly been burned. "Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will," growls Cato, grabbing the first branch.

"Here, take this, Cato," Glimmer says, trying to offer him her bow and arrows.

He just shoves her away, saying, "No. I'll do better with my sword."

Once he's in the tree, Fire Girl is climbing again.

"Kill her, Cato!" I yell again. "Kill her!" He growls something under his breath, and with his next step there's a crack and he's on the ground again, cursing. Fire Girl is fifty or sixty feet up, and Glimmer attempts to climb after her. I hear a snap and expect her to fall like Cato did, but she holds on and aims an arrow at Fire Girl.

The arrow misses, sticking in the tree a few inches from the target and Glimmer shouts in outrage as Fire Girl brandishes the arrow teasingly.

Once she's down, I begin to tease Glimmer about her poor archery skills when Lover Boy speaks up for the first time in hours. "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

Oh yeah, she's going nowhere. Trapped up in that tree, eighty feet above our heads. She can't have much food or water in that orange backpack of hers. If she doesn't come down, she'll dehydrate to death.

"Somebody make a fire," Cato orders, directing it mostly at Lover Boy. He scrambles to obey and within minutes we've got a small fire going, cutting through the darkness of the already-cold night. I absentmindedly flick three knives at a lizard, all of them impaling the reptile. I glimpse Cato holding his short, heavy blade over the fire, watching the tip turn ember-orange before blowing on it so it cools. Marina is sharpening her own sword, Glimmer still angrily staring up at our treed victim. Marvel is already beginning to doze off.

Our weapons glint in the firelight as I begin to allow myself a little smile. _We've got Fire Girl, _I think, almost happily. _She'll be coming down any time, and we will be ready for her. I'll have her all to myself. And she will pay for showing me up in the Capitol._

Thoughts of revenge fill my head as I drift off.

**Finch III**

The Careers yell at Katniss for a while before setting up a bright orange blaze. I can see their weapons glinting from here, and decide that it's safe to move when the fire dies down to half its original size. I dig the blanket out of my backpack and spread it over myself and think about my situation.

I can't try to get back to camp; I would never make it in time and the Careers would see me, even in this darkness. Without light _I _won't be able to see, therefore I will crunch everything brittle, all the dead pine needles and pine branches, alerting the Careers of my position and being slaughtered. Right now the words 'make noise', 'pine needles', and 'cannon' are all pretty much synonymous.

_Happy thoughts, _I think to myself sarcastically.

I pull the blanket around me tighter as the cold seeps into my body, like it did the first night. At least this time I have the blanket . . . wait, since when did the Career's fire look so inviting? The warm blaze calls, I need the warmth like I needed it the first night. Why is the blanket so _thin? _I am just now realizing how much I depend on my debris hut for warmth—I'm sure that the Gamemakers are making the weather colder each night, and hotter each day. Hmm, so this way I can turn into an ice cube at night, get thawed out in the morning, then turn into firewood in the day, cooler at evening, and ice cube at night again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. I die.

Yes, more happy thoughts. And staring at the flames only a few hundred yards away from me, the 'happy' thoughts are replaced with stupid ones—extremely stupid ones. Yes, more stupid than leaving my backpack out in the open. More idiotic that not tying it into the tree. More foolish than letting myself get trapped here by the Career Pack.

I am going to do more than steal _from_ the Careers. I am going to steal _a _Career.

Yes, you heard me. I just became the Queen of Ridiculously Idiotic, Foolish, and Stupid Ideas.

I am going to capture a Career.

**How was it? Too forced at the end? Do you think they got off to easy with the fire? Glimmer's switching between angry and pathetic too weird? I don't want to be marked as annoying and desperate, so I'm not exactly going to beg for reviews, although they are much appreciated. **

**And I'm going to have to say that Finch and Clove meet each other…DUN DUN DUN…next chapter! Well, kind of…you'll see!**


	10. Arena: Day Five

**Oh, wow, it's amazing. I am finally going to write an **_**entire chapter**_** in ONE CHARACTER'S point of view. All Finch's. You'll figure out why when you read it.**

** Finch**

As I sit only a few yards away from the sleeping Careers, I try to convince myself to _not do this. _I've been telling myself the plan a million times, sometimes trying to make myself believe that I should do it, and sometimes the other way around.

_Doing this would take away one danger without a death on my hands—I can't kill. It would make encountering the Career Pack less dangerous. There will be supplies in her pack, and plenty of weapons, although I would use them for finding food. Knives can be used for survival._

I've made the decision to take the girl from District Two. She is the smallest one, so she will be easier to drag back to camp. Unlike her district partner, who would take an hour to move a few meters and would snap my neck in three seconds. The District Two girl uses knives, I remember from the notes I took. Never misses. Her name is now Knife Girl, then. I refuse to remember her name—no point in knowing anybody in the arena.

I am staring at Knife Girl's sleeping form, wondering how I would be able to drag her back to camp without her waking up, when I hear a distant noise. A noise I haven't heard in District Five; I heard it in training in the shelter-making lesson. The sawing of a knife, though it is coming from _up. _The Girl on Fire, she must be sawing at something. _What? Nothing would help her, _I think, but look up.

She's about seventy or eighty feet high, but I can still hear and see exactly what's going on. My eyes follow along the branch where the Girl on Fire is sawing, and see a clump of something on the branch.

_It is a bee's nest. But this is the arena, so it can't be ordinary bees. Mutts, mutts, what are some bee mutts?_

Of course—they're tracker jackers. Their stings cause horrible hallucinations of whatever the one who got stung fears most. The stings are extremely painful and can knock you out for hours, even days in some cases. And death—too many stings can kill a human.

_The Girl on Fire is going to drop a nest of tracker jackers on the Careers._

I instinctively back away a few feet before realizing that this could help me. If Knife Girl gets knocked out, I will be able to drag her back to my camp, without her waking up and me dying a painful death.

I watch Fire Girl saw away at the branch, and by now I think it's been long enough that it should drop any time now. It's now or never.

The Queen of Idiotic, Foolish, and Stupid Ideas—or should I say _I_—dart out from the bushes and grab onto Knife Girl's wrists. I drag her back into the greenery when the nest falls.

It's mayhem as the wasps burst from the nest. The Careers are running around and screaming, "To the lake! To the lake!" I have gotten about ten yards away with Knife Girl when she breaks free and draws a knife out of her jacket. She leaps onto me, tackling me to the ground.

"You should know you can't kill me," she says, her voice a bit off because of her few stings; I think she got about two. "But, I can still kill you." She raises the knife, but it slips from her fingers—because the tracker jacker venom is making her weak. "What . . .?" Knife Girl's words are slurred, probably a side effect of the venom. "Knife . . ." But she's unconscious now. I push her off of me, and then I grasp both of her wrists again and set off to the other side of the arena, to my camp.

We are another several hundred yards away from the tracker jacker tree when two things happen: I hear two cannons, and Knife Girl lets out a scream. I involuntarily drop her arms and spring back, but she doesn't wake. She flails around for a few seconds, but then lies still. I wait for a cannon, but there is none. Knife Girl is just still knocked out, not dead. The scream must have been from the hallucinations of what she fears. Hmm, what _does _she fear?

I try to be gentle and not bump her head on too many rocks and branches, but it's unavoidable. It could leave a trail, but it's not like I have the threat of Careers finding me at the moment. They should all be knocked out—two of them dead, if those cannons were for them. Hopefully they were, and it's likely, with the tracker jackers. Ten tributes left, anyway. Just ten.

But it takes less than nine tributes to kill me. I have less of a chance than tiny Squirrel Girl, who at least must know how to find food, being from the agriculture district.

And . . . when I get Knife Girl back to my camp, I can raid the Careers' supplies! They won't be guarding them, some knocked out, two dead, and Knife Girl right here!

Some strength renewed from that thought, I put on a burst of speed for a few feet. It doesn't last, because I am just pathetic in terms of muscle. On the rock-climbing wall in training, it took one or two climbs to tire be out completely. I could barely lift a knife after that.

§ § § § §

An agonizingly slow few hours of dragging Knife Girl later, I _finally _arrive back at camp. After pulling her limp form onto the grass of the clearing, I flop down next to her, spread-eagled on the earth. For a moment I think I'm about to drift off, but I pinch myself repeatedly until I'm alert. I manage to take Knife Girl's black backpack off of her and stow it right outside of my debris hut. Then I prop her up against a pine tree at the edge of the clearing, securing her to it with a rope around her waist. For good measure, I also tie her wrists together behind the trunk.

I crawl to my shelter and dig through Clove's—no, no, _Knife Girl's _pack, and come up with three more full water bottles, two packs of dried fruit, three packs of beef jerky, and extra knives. Why would she be carrying around this many supplies, when she just has a huge pile of it back at the Careers' camp? Maybe the Career Pack was planning on doing a long hunting trip, multiple days without returning to camp.

At the bottom of the backpack I find a small piece of paper, why there is paper in the arena I do not know. But anyway, the paper has markings on it, circles and one long, curvy line. A large circle is in the middle, with the line leading from the outside to it. It is labeled 'supplies'. On the top in big letters it reads, _Mine Map. _Mine map? But the supplies at the center . . . oh no. Someone must have planted the mines all around the supplies, and everyone who tries to steal it would be blown to smithereens if they didn't know about the mines. That would have been me if I didn't check in Knife Girl's pack. _Thanks, _I think. _I just got a load of free supplies._

As I place the paper carefully back in the black pack, I cut the back of my thumb on one of the extra knives of Knife Girl's.

Oh no. _The knives! _I forgot to take the knives away from her! I call her 'Knife Girl', and _why_ am I being so idiotic today? I take the knives out of her jacket and put them in her—well, now it's mine— black backpack, then move some of the newly stolen food into my green one.

I think Knife Girl managed to rip the stingers out, so I needn't worry about that. Leaving her there, I haul myself to my feet and try to convince myself that it's worth the effort to raid the Careers now, but I'm just tired from dragging Knife Girl all the way here . . . so tired.

I successfully get into the debris hut I built before I doze off.

§ § § § §

_I should have eaten some of Knife Girl's beef jerky before I went to sleep, _I think as I wriggle out of the shelter. Then I open a pack of it, and wolf down two strips. The sun is low enough in the sky to be about one or two hours until sunset.

Time to steal more Career food. Taking care not to cut myself on the knives again, I draw the mine map out of my new bag. I rise from the ground and slip silently into the forest, slowly making my way to the dirt plain.

And I am right. The Careers are a couple hundred yards away, near the lake, all knocked out. Wait, no, there's someone in the tent. What? The ones by the lake are the boys from One and Two. I don't see Twelve, or either of the girls—one of them must be in the tent, the other two dead.

But no, when he comes out of the tent, I can see that it's the boy from District Three. _Oh, that must be why the mines are reactivated and planted around the supplies, _I think. Then, _Oh no. What if he heard me and is looking for me?_

I am relieved when he is just checking to see if the Careers are awake yet. They aren't, so he just hops to the supplies and takes a small pack of nuts, then jumps back to the tent and goes inside.

I stare at the mine map for a minute, and take a deep breath before stepping onto the plain. I stop about three feet from where the mines start.

I only close my eyes for about five seconds, but it feels like much longer. Opening them, I hop-step just to the left of the first mine. Once I realize that I'm still alive and in one piece, I risk the next hop-step. I'm not dead.

Soon I make it to the pyramid of supplies. I lift a dark brown backpack from its place on top of a crate, purposely choosing a color that would not be easily spotted. I slowly unzip it and find what is inside it. Rope, that's good, now I can use it for other purposes than tying up Knife Girl. More water purifier, two containers of it. An apple, a bundle of string, and a lighter are also in the pack. Now I have fire, and if I don't actually light one, I can use the tip of the lighter like a flashlight.

After shouldering the backpack, I get out of the minefield in about ten steps, and bolt off into the cover of the trees. The trees may be sparse, but it's better than being out in the open, on the plain. I progress through the forest, half-tempted to use the little hop-steps I did in the minefield.

I hear the cracking of pine needles and freeze in terror, but then I realize that I am not stepping quietly enough. _Don't let it get to your head that the Careers are knocked out,_ I tell myself. _If you get too used to it, you will not be quiet when they _are _awake._

When I reach the clearing by the creek, I am thinking about the intelligence of the placement of my camp. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to make my camp right next to the Careers' camp. I should have gone upstream a bit, or at least made my debris hut less noticeable. Well, too late for that now. Knife Girl is still unconscious, but I think she will be waking up tomorrow, according to the amount of stings she received—two, if I am correct. Most likely, I won't have enough time to move my camp before she awakens. And moving the debris hut, I would have to rebuild the entire thing—and who knows if there is even another log to build it on.

I unzip the black backpack and take out two strips of beef jerky, then replace the mine map. Before I indulge in the jerky, I consume about six whole dandelions, and save the jerky for last. _Best for last, _I think. Again, those bright yellow flowers are _bitter._

Darkness is falling, yet I am startled when a burst of music blares throughout the arena, and the sky is lit up blue with the seal of the Capitol. The faces of the girls from Districts One and Four are projected, and then the sky goes dark once more.

I allow myself another dandelion before crawling into my shelter for the night, but the anthem is stuck in my head and keeps me awake. Being the power district, District Five actually has enough power. Every evening the anthem is played on live television, accompanied with the seals of both the Capitol and Five. It's odd that I haven't been reminded of this before, maybe because I actually have someone near me this time. It may be Knife Girl this time, but it is still someone.

_Laurel was always near me at home._

_No, no,_ _don't think about Laurel,_ I order myself. But I am, and I wrap my blanket tighter around me, trying to keep the warmth in.

The cold seems to seep into your bones more easily when you are downcast.

**I am aware that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last few, but I couldn't think of very much to put into the other seven hundred words that I wanted to type. Next chapter, Clove wakes up! She might be just the **_**tiniest bit mad **_**about her predicament . . . **_**massive understatement.**_


	11. Arena: Day Six

******Oh great, it's nearly been a week! In my defense, I had this huge project for school.**

**Finch**

In the past hour or so, I have come to the conclusion that capturing Knife Girl was a terrible idea. I was cold and tired that night, and in the morning I wasn't any better off.

It's around late morning or noon by now. I hear a moan and leap to the other side of the log before I know what I'm doing. Considering that Knife Girl is waking up, maybe it _is _good that I did that. But she _is _tied up to that tree, so I force myself to come out into the open, where she can see me.

She is straining at the rope, to no avail. "_You,_" she hisses. "You did this! You took my _knives!_ You—you—I will _murder _you!"

I think we figured that out. "Don't try to get away," I stutter, holding out one of her knives I stole in front of me with both hands. It comes out as a whisper, and I realize that it is the first thing I've said since I got stuck in the arena. Actually since the night before the arena, I think—my mentor gave me a bit of advice, and I haven't spoken since then.

"Don't try to get away," I say again, loud enough so that Knife Girl can hear me, but I can't keep the fear out of my voice.

"Oh yeah? What're you gonna do about it?" she taunts.

"I—I have a knife!" I protest weakly.

"If you wanted to kill me, I'd be dead, not tied up."

I sigh. "If you call for your allies, they'll just see it as the perfect chance to kill you. And they're all knocked out. Tracker jackers."

That does it. She gives me an evil death glare, which makes me want to hide behind the log again. "I see your point," she growls, "but when I get free, you will wish you were District Eight!"

District Eight, whose cannon took so long to go off, whose screams I could her from the other end of the arena. I inwardly shudder and step backward.

I rummage through the green backpack and eat a strip of dried fruit, then toss another at Knife Girl. She reaches for it with her teeth, and manages to swallow it without the use of her hands.

"So," Knife Girl says after a while. "Who's dead?"

At my look of surprise she adds, "I know I've been out for a day. I know about tracker jackers. Did anyone die yesterday?"

"The girls from One and Four," I answer.

"Glimmer and Marina," I hear her mutter. "Good. Glimmer was always an idiot. Marina . . . it's good she's dead."

_Good_ that her ally is dead? District Four didn't look as much of a threat as the others. That's odd, normally Careers don't want each other dead this early.

I set the knife down and dig the mine map out of the black backpack, trying to memorize it. I can still hear Knife Girl trying to worm her way out of the binds. I just hope she doesn't. What was _wrong_ with me that night and morning? Now my death is all she's going to be thinking about. District honor is one reason that the Careers volunteer—it's sick. Kidnapping her is sure to wound her pride—and that is what Careers are full of. It matters everything to them. And I just ruined that—she will not rest until I am dead at her hands.

Why did I capture her? I am just realizing it now.

_The foolish and unrealistic idea of hoping to be her ally._

**Clove**

How dare she, this _outer district _tribute, capture me? How was she even _able _to? She's pathetic, you can tell just by looking at her. She isn't holding any weapons; she's also very skinny and not at all muscular. And from District _Five! _But she has three backpacks . . . Well, one of them is mine, and for the others—she must have been the thief! And Marina didn't catch _this _weak girl? Ha, she deserved to die!

Wait. And who dropped the tracker jackers on me in the first place? The tracker jackers are what knocked me out, allowing me to be kidnapped by Fox Girl—because yes, she does remind me of a fox, cunning and stealthy; she must have been to kidnap me and steal supplies.

_Fire Girl._ Fire Girl made this happen, this is _her _fault! She won over the Capitol, she showed me up in training, and now she is the cause of me being captured by this puny girl.

And, _why _did Fox Girl just tie me to this tree instead of putting a knife in my back? She could have done it; I had tons of knives in my jacket and backpack.

"Why am I not dead?" I ask Fox Girl.

She turns away from a piece of paper—the mine map! She has the mine map; she can steal anything now! "Didn't want to kill you," Fox Girl answers.

"Then you could've left me!"

"To get more stings?"

This is infuriating. I grit my teeth together so hard that it is almost painful. "_You should not care what happens to me. We are in the _Games. _We're supposed to kill each other. You aren't supposed to help me._"

Fox Girl looks taken aback. She unzips a backpack and rummages through it, probably taking inventory. I get back to work on escaping.

The ropes on my hands are tied a certain way. A loop of rope is tied around one wrist, and then the rope ties around my other wrist. The trunk of the fir tree is thick enough that I am not even able to touch my finger on one hand to the fingers on the other. I'm not getting out of that anytime soon. But the rope around my middle isn't even that tight, and I worm my legs out of it within a few minutes.

Small victory. It counts for nothing if I can't get my hands free. Fox Girl can actually tie knots this tight?

"That won't help you," Fox Girl comments.

"Better halfway out than completely stuck," I retort. Wait, did that even make _sense?_

I attempt to get my fingers on the rope around my wrists, but it's just the wrong angle. I'm half tempted to go back to uselessly straining against the ropes, but I _really_ do notneed to wear myself out doing something hopeless. I'll never get out of these ropes.

_But you could trick her, _a little voice in my head whispers, one I almost never hear. I normally rely on my physical skills, strength, speed, and knives, to get me out of situations. I don't often use cleverness to overcome obstacles, and when I do, it's attack strategy I'm thinking. But that won't work here.

**Finch**

Knife Girl is one of the few things that confuse me. Nothing she says makes sense. 'Better halfway out than completely stuck'? Really? What does that even _mean?_

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Clove—no, _Knife Girl_, she does _not _have a name, she's _just_ another tribute—has stopped straining pointlessly. I get the feeling that if she kept doing it her wrists would rub against the rope until the skin was raw. I shudder, although it's only a thought, and I've seen worse things on the television screen watching previous Games.

Thinking that I must have taken inventory at least twice just now, I zip the last backpack up, and just scoot a few feet to the log and lean my back against it, on a patch where there are no branches.

"So . . . I guess you _did _save me back there," Knife Girl admits, although it sounds mostly forced. "I could've died like Glimmer and Marina."

_No! _I mentally scream, tucking my knees up to my chest and locking my hands together around them. _Stop saying their names! People with names don't die, people with names have others who care about them, that makes it seem like they shouldn't die and in the arena everyone but one has to die! Essentially it's everyone who dies, the victor doesn't even live, all of them are _insane!

I don't say all that out loud, of course, and I can't think of anything to say to Knife Girl that won't force the Gamemakers to sic mutts on me, so I just remain silent.

"Why didn't you want me dead?" she inquires. "We're in the arena."

I don't speak for a moment. Then I answer her. "I . . ." All of a sudden I feel—embarrassment?—to tell her why. I force myself to get it out, though. "I want to be your ally."

Yes, she was definitely forcing her words before, because now contempt has come into her voice, and she raises her eyebrows in amusement. "An alliance. With me. You actually think that could happen? You're from _Five. _You can't do anything; you got a five in training. And I know that wasn't even with weapons. You'll _never _be in an alliance with me."

I almost want to be angry, but all of it is completely true. I can't use weapons, my training score is pathetic, and all I can do is sneak around. Stealing only went perfectly when the Careers were all knocked out from the tracker jacker venom. And of course Knife Girl would never 'lower' herself to have an ally like me.

"You're right."

**Clove**

Ally . . . Fox Girl wants to be my ally. Why did I say what I did, why did I say that? If I lied that yes, that I accepted her offer, then she would cut me free! I would get my knives back, and then stab her in the back—literally.

But _no, _I have to say exactly what I was thinking and it might have just cost me m freedom. Yet, she would be suspicious if I agreed to be her ally, because, well, of what I just ranted about.

And now she's saying that I'm right, that she is pathetic and as good as dead already. I can see the dead seriousness on her face, the depression, and can almost feel her heart plunging down. It seems to have emotionally stopped.

"Wait, actually, I think it was brave of you. To get me out of there, before Fire Girl dropped the nest. You didn't have to, you thought an alliance with me was hopeless, and you could've been killed."

The words are out before I can stop them.

_What did I just _say?_ Why, why, why, _why! _Oh, how everyone at home is sure to be cursing at me and screaming for my death. I just dishonored the entire district by saying that—I _should _be dead._

And why did I hate how depressed she got, when I ranted at her about how pathetic she was? She's not supposed to be anything. I have to kill her—and now because those words are out, the only thing I can do to redeem myself is to win.

"What?" Fox Girl asks, mystified at my outburst. "Why?"

I would kick myself if I were in a position where it was possible. "I said it! There! Don't know why! Happy now, Fox Girl?" Wait, did I say that out loud?

Fox Girl tries to keep a loose smile off of her face, but winds up chuckling lightly. "'Fox Girl'? Should I be insulted?"

"Depends on what you think of foxes," I reply. I realize that I am beginning to blame Fire Girl completely for this whole situation I'm in. Fox Girl really isn't too bad.

And I'm supposed to kill her. Of course I will kill her, I would definitely kill her when the time came, just like any other tribute. With as much hesitation as I did the boy from Seven.

**Finch**

"I've never seen a real fox," I answer. "They're apparently in the District Five area, but it's the power district. Animals mostly stay away."

"I've never seen one either," Knife Girl says. "And what's your real name?"

Names. Names. Names. Names aren't for tributes; names are for people who other people care about. We shouldn't have names, twenty-three are going to physically die, and one will go insane after winning—mentally dying.

"Finch," I get out, my voice strangled and hollow.

"Clove."

I actually already knew her name, but now that she is telling it to me, it feels like . . . trust.

_Trust_. Something that I have never thought could happen in the arena. Something that I have only felt with one other person in the world—Laurel, and she's my sister. Something that I am sure Clove has never felt in her entire life.

"Why do you want to know my name?" I ask Clove. "One of us is going to die. Names shouldn't matter." She must get the idea that I mean her, because she remains silent for a minute.

She eventually answers, "I don't know that either. Names aren't really important, so it doesn't matter if I know your name or not, but I just like knowing names. It . . . I don't know, keeps me more oriented." The last sentence seems to be more of a question than a statement.

I never really thought about it that way, but it makes sense to me.

I take out the half-filled water bottle from a backpack and drain what remains of it, then stride to the creek and refill it. I drip some of the purifier into the liquid and let it sit.

I stare out at the stream, which is reflecting light so it seems to flash and even glow slightly. Pines are rattling in the background and a squirrel scurries up a fir on the other side of the creek.

This would be a great day were I not in the Hunger Games.

_**Time skip—the time is around sunset now.**_

** Clove**

I shiver, the air cold this early already. The last rays of sunlight on the horizon are beginning to dwindle. The pines cast eerie shadows in the dim light,

Despite not officially being in an alliance, and that fact that I shouldn't care about Finch one bit, I start to wonder when she'll be back. She has been out searching for food since early afternoon, although I think she's doing a bit of stealing. I attempt to convince myself that I only want her to be back because she's the only one who can free me, although even that is very unlikely. She gives me food, though. I try to reassure myself that because I haven't heard any screams or cannons today, she must be all right. But that doesn't stop a—is it nervous?—feeling from entering my head.

So I almost start when I feel a knife scrape a third of the way through the ropes binding my wrists together. Finch emerges from the trees behind me, and quietly drops the knife about two yards away from me.

Could she . . . could she _trust _me? That doesn't happen; no one, _no one at all_, ever trusts me. I watch her crawl into her shelter, but she does not even look my way.

When I can hear Finch breathing evenly, showing that she is asleep, I begin to repeatedly jerk my arms in opposite directions, breaking the many thin fibers of the rope. Finch started the fraying, which is all I need to escape. She did this on purpose.

I work my way through the rope much faster than I expected I would. I bring my hands up in front of me, _finally, _free. I untie the knots, letting the rope fall slack to the ground, and then flex my wrists. Ah, that feels _good._ Free at last.

I stand and cover the few feet of ground separating me from my knife. I snatch up the blade and prowl the rest of the way across camp to Finch's shelter. There is enough space between the top of the shelter and Finch's back, so I can easily reach my arm in without her knowing.

I raise the knife just a few inches from Finch's back. I tell myself to bring the weapon down, to get one step closer to winning, to hear a cannon.

But for the first time in my life, I can't.

I don't want to bring the knife down. I don't want to kill Finch.

And I will not kill Finch. I withdraw my arm from her shelter and let the knife drop down, into the dry, dusty soil. It only makes a soft thump, but Finch's eyes fly open and her gaze nervously darts to me, but the look on her face quickly turns to confusion. Probably because I'm not holding a knife, not about to kill her.

"Just getting the blanket," I say. It makes sense; it is _cold _out here. And I actually do need it.

"Okay," she croaks, and lets me take it. I only move about three yards away before I lay down and wrap myself tightly in the blanket.

I don't specifically recall falling asleep, but it eventually creeps up on me.

**Okay, this chapter didn't turn out NEARLY as good as I'd hoped. But, I can't think of anything better to write, so live with it.**

**And do you think that Clove was too OOC in this chapter?**


	12. Arena: Day Seven

**It has been over a week since my last update. I have failed you.**

**Aaaaaaaaaaaanyway.**

**I was originally going to write the end of the last chapter (the part where Finch frees Clove and then Clove spares her) a lot later in the story so that they both have more reasons to do what they did, but it isn't as fun or interesting to write Clove when she's tied up.**

**And does anyone know what the symbol '§' means? **

**Clove**

I wake to find my hands twitching around oddly, and with a stab of panic I realize that I'm not holding a knife. I instantly locate the one I dropped outside of Finch's shelter last night, and grip it tightly, relieved.

I untangle myself from the blanket and notice that Finch isn't in her shelter. I scan the camp and find her refilling a water bottle in the creek. I am instantly reminded of my thirst and dig a second canteen out of one of the three backpacks and am halfway through it before I remember that I shouldn't drink it all at once, after all I've been going without water for two days.

Two days. I hadn't realized that I haven't had water for two days.

Ah, _that _must be the reason for all of my foolish thinking last night. I drain the rest of the canteen and another before I'm rehydrated.

Finch comes back up from the rocky riverbank to find me stuffing my knives back into my jacket, lining it. She tenses for a few seconds—in fear, probably, to see my with my deadly weapons again—but relaxes the slightest bit when I don't fling one at her. I stand.

_I could kill her now, _I think. _I'm not dehydrated now. Just sink a knife into her back and take the food, then get back to the rest of the Careers. They might even be knocked out at the moment, easy targets for me._

But she also saved me from the tracker jackers and spared my life when she could have killed me. She wants to be my ally. She gave me food yesterday, when she clearly needed it for herself. And it was Fire Girl's fault that Finch was _able _to capture me in the first place.

And if I go back to the Careers, Marvel or Cato will send a spear flying at me before they even realize who I am. Kill first; think later, that's what it's like with those two. Most of the time, at least.

"So, Five, can you do _anything_?" I ask her. I will not call her Finch. It makes it sound like I might actually _care _what happens to her. "Besides tying up unconscious people?"

" . . . Um, I can sneak around. Steal stuff," Finch answers. "I know a few plants we can eat."

'We'? There is no 'we' in this. "How about in terms of weapons?"

Her shoulders droop slightly, and she says, "Nothing, really."

I snort. "Not even a _knife?"_

"Well . . . I guess I could stab somebody," Finch says reluctantly. It's obvious she doesn't want to kill anyone.

"Anybody could do that," I scoff. "Anyone who isn't paralyzed." But I guess that's easy for me to say—what was that Caesar said on the night of the interviews? 'Clove. The girl with the knives, she never misses'? Yes, that was it. And it is most certainly true.

"Here," I say, handing Finch a knife. "Only, hold it like this." I position her fingers around the blade in the correct way. "That tree right there." I point to a large fir tree, not to far away and is large enough that Finch shouldn't have too much trouble hitting it.

"Why're you doing this?" Finch asks. "We're both tributes."

"You said you wanted an alliance, right?" I snap. "Just throw the stupid knife."

Her eyes widen in surprise for a split second before she sends the knife whizzing through the air.

It hits the tree, but with the handle, causing it to bounce off and land in the pine needles. I already knew what it would do before it did. One rotation of the knife is three knife lengths, and she spun the knife too slowly. Therefore, the _handle_ would hit the tree. And it did.

Finch turns back to me. "But why?"

"You got a problem?" I snarl. I'm not about to tell her that Cato will kill me if I go back, and I can't last on Finch's meager supplies for the rest of the Games if I kill her. I need her to steal food for me—I know I can't get around those mines myself.

And I can't tell her that I need her for anything.

**Finch**

"No," I answer, not even attempting to conceal my surprise at her acceptance of my alliance offer. "I don't have a problem with it.

Clove stalks to where the knife fell and flings it back at me. I instinctively duck before I realize that she aimed above my head, not at it.

"Good." She opens a backpack and eats two strips of beef jerky before saying, "Throw it again."

I comply, but I miss the tree completely by a few inches this time. I retrieve the knife—which turns out to be at the base of a scraggly bush—before Clove does and throws it at me again. I toss it at the tree and it hits a branch to the left with the flat of the blade, then it drops to rest in the dead pine needles.

I shove the knife in my belt, and then go back down to the stream to refill and purify the water bottles that Clove drank a few minutes ago. My stomach rumbles and I wolf down two strips of dried fruit. Now there are only eight strips left, but I still have twelve of beef jerky, an apple, four pepperoni sticks, and five and a half packs of nuts. I—I mean _we_—should be able to last a good deal longer without stealing. Well, not very long if Clove decides to kill me anyway. Happy thoughts again.

I hear a thud and turn, but somehow it's _three_ knives that the quivering in the tree, not one. The only explanation would be throwing three knives at once—three in a row and the first two would be still. She catches me staring and smirks.

"You should probably stick to sneaking around," she comments, "and I'll do the weapons."

"Agreed," I say emotionlessly.

Although Clove tries to conceal it, I notice that her eyes widen for a moment. What did she notice? "Knife," Clove demands. What—oh. She holds out her hand and I reluctantly take the blade out of my belt and place it on her hand. Her fingers curl around it and she shoves it back into its place in her jacket—no need to have it out, because she's holding another.

Clove obviously doesn't trust me, and she has no reason to. I willed myself to stab her yesterday, when she was still unconscious. One less threat. But I just _can't _kill. It's wrong. Clove may think not; she clearly _wants _to drive a knife into my back, but it is. And that in itself is one more reason to be suspicious of me. She thinks that I wouldn't have a problem with killing, and therefore thinks that I will stab her in the back, literally and figuratively.

And as for _why_ she hasn't driven a knife into my back yet is beyond me.

I stuff the three backpacks and the water bottles into my debris hut and go back down to the rocky bank of the creek. I begin to creep downstream, towards the lake, when Clove calls out.

"Where're you going?" The words are quiet enough, but they're the loudest thing I've heard since the screams from the tracker jacker attackand I flinch.

My voice is a little quieter than hers when I answer. "Down to the lake—the Career camp. Checking if they're conscious yet."

Clove slides down the slight slope to the bankside, a few yards behind me. I instinctively move back, next to her, so my back won't be facing her. I can't help but tense up with Clove so close to me, but I loosen up to half as rigid after a few minutes. She's just so _easy _right now, as if we weren't in a killing contest.

Then I get tense again when the thought crosses my mind that she's easy _because _we're in a killing contest. She volunteered, actually _fought _someone for a chance to be in these sick Games.

I'm almost relieved when we arrive at the lake so that I can move farther away from Clove. Since the Careers are just at the edge of the other side of the lake, half submerged in the lake, we can see them without too much difficulty.

The boy from Twelve is no longer with them, and 'them' is just the boys from One and Two. I can tell that One is still completely out, even from this distance, but Two's fingers are beginning to twitch. He's starting to revive.

I actually give a tiny gasp of fear and move back a few steps, so now Clove is in front of me. I subconsciously realize that she thinks me a coward, but I'm just sensibly retreating.

"Cato's waking up," Clove announces, somewhat quietly. I back up even further. Now that _she _says it, I have to get out of here.

"Let's go back," I suggest hurriedly.

**Clove**

Back at the riverside clearing where Finch made her camp, I begin to sharpen my knives. She flinches every time I make a stroke with a knife, which is every few seconds. After I notice that she's doing that, I try to cause the noise to be eerie, and I must succeed because she gets so jumpy that she leaves the camp, saying that she's going to scout for other tributes. . I grin in triumph. She takes two strips of beef jerky and one of dried fruit with her, probably for lunch—it's about noon. I eat a pepperoni stick, the remaining half of a pack of nuts, and a quarter of the apple, which I cut out with one of my many knives.

Once she comes back, she has a question ready.

"Why did you ask about my name last night, say that names keep you oriented, and just call me 'Five' anyways?"

I stand up from my seat on the log. "I can know your name, but I don't have to call you by it," I respond coldly, sheathing one of the two knives I have out in my belt. "I'm just going to kill you later."

"'Later'," the girl echoes. "Why later?"

I am confused for a split second, and then realize that she's asking why I haven't killed her yet. Oh no, I can't answer this. I can't tell her that I can't go back to the Careers, that I _need her _to steal food for me!

"That's not for you to know," I snap.

"Yes, it is!" Finch cries. "I'm in an alliance with someone who clearly wants to kill me! I deserve to know _why_!"

_Finch _is saying this? I haven't known her for very long, but she already doesn't strike me as the type of person to be prone to outbursts like this. But I guess anyone would be at least irritated in her position.

"I can't tell you, alright?" I snarl, beginning to anger. "I can't tell you."

"You. Can," says Finch, gritting her teeth.

"I CAN'T!" I shout, and fling a knife so close to her head that it shears off half a spray of cedar sticking out from her hair. Did I mention that she looks like what a five-year-old would probably call a 'tree monster'? Cedar branches are sticking off her everywhere, and her face is smeared thickly with ash. I never actually noticed the ash; she never really faced me before now. She's been terrified of me the whole time. That I always knew.

And the fear enters her eyes once more.

The girl backs away a few steps before turning and fleeing in a full-out sprint. She isn't leaving a visible trail, but I can still hear her. My predatory instinct fired up, I break into a run and tail her. I can tell that the largest bits of cedar, the ones in her sleeves and her back, have fallen out. They're the clearest bit of trail, but I can't glimpse Finch yet.

Wait, there! She's doubling back, trying to get back to the clearing—probably to pick up her supplies, or maybe in an attempt to lose me; it doesn't seem much like a good idea. It's too open.

And I plan to use that to my advantage.

I swerve widely, only a few yards behind Finch but several to her left. I can see the clearing up ahead now; hear the dull roar of the creek. _Almost there, _I think.

She bursts into the clearing only about four seconds ahead of me. Unlucky for her and lucky for me, she can't grab the backpacks on the fly. She has to pause to reach into her shelter and grab them, but I'm upon her before she can get her fingers around one. I easily pin her, and she soon stops struggling.

"Later is now, isn't it?" Finch asks, panting from the exertion of the fearful sprint. "When you're going to kill me?"

I stare at her for a moment—her red hair tangled and woven with cedar, her amber eyes wild with fear.

_But do I really want her to be scared of me?_

The stupid side of me, the side I wish I didn't have, the side that spared Finch last night, is speaking again. But I reclaim my mind. Of _course _I want her scared of me. Everyone is scared of me; it has become who I am. The girl everyone fears. I am proud of it.

_Everyone fears me._

And everyone hates me. I am also the girl no one trusts, the girl no one loves! Not even my own parents. They just care about me winning the Games.

That's what I came here to do. But that will just earn me _acceptance _with my parents, and make everyone else in the districts hate me. I don't need more enemies. Also, my parents won't really accept me after what I said to her yesterday—being brave for saving me from the tracker jackers.

And for some strange reason that I do not yet know, I don't want Finch to be afraid of me. It's like when I insulted everything about her yesterday, and I came out with that thing about her being brave. I didn't want her to feel bad then; I don't want her to feel afraid now.

"No," I say. "Later isn't now."

**Finch**

_She's not going to kill me._

It takes a while for the words to register. Later isn't now. She's not going to kill me yet.

Clove gets off me, allowing me to get to my feet. She brushes some dust off of the knife she's holding and tries to cover up by snapping,

"Consider yourself lucky."

She stalks away, glares at the sun. She probably wants it to lessen its heat, have night come. But that's probably five or six hours away—it can't be much later that about three thirty, judging from the sun's position. I mentally agree with her; the temperature is getting hotter each day, and plummeting drastically at night. Dawn and sunset are good—dawn just warming up, sunset just cooling down. I see exactly why Clove is glaring at the fiery sun.

Or maybe it's the fact that she has a special hatred for the Girl on Fire. It has been obvious since the chariot rides, when she angrily stormed straight to the elevator. It all seems like so long ago. It was just over a week and a half ago, yet even the bloodbath seems ancient.

Clove glares at me for a second before whirling away, but that's all it takes to realize something. I got her away from the tracker jackers, saving her life. _Once. _She spared me _twice._

"What do you want?" I ask, not at all demanding, more . . . on the edge of fear.

Clove turns to face me. "What do I want?" She stares evenly at me. "We're already in an alliance. But if this counts . . . I don't want you to be afraid of me."

Are we already going crazy?

**Okay, I was **_**not**_** expecting to write that! I planned on the part where Finch asks Clove 'Why did you ask about my name last night, say that names keep you oriented, and just call me 'Five' anyways?', but after that, it just kind of took a life of its own and went crazy. I actually like the result. Do you think it was good/decent/okay? Or was it terrible?**


	13. Arena: Day Eight

**I AM SO SORRY IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED! In my defense, I was out of town for three nights without electronics, so YEAH. And I am working on a novel. And my mom is always yelling at me to get off of the computer.**

**Also, I know I left off with the last chapter being at three thirty p.m., but this is still the next day. Hence the chapter name 'Arena: Day Eight'.**

**Now, on with the story!**

** Clove**

I'm jolted out of sleep by a cannon shot. _Fifteen down, eight to go, _is my first thought. Then I check to see if it's Finch, but no, she's in her shelter and I can see her chest rising and falling. Maybe Cato decided to kill Dem. Anyway, if we were ambushed, I'm more in the open so I would be killed first. But I'm not going to be killed—I'm still winning this thing, Finch or no Finch.

She can help me for now, though. I edge to the entrance to her shelter. "Five," I hiss, shaking her with my knife-free hand. "Wake up."

Her head jerks up, almost high enough to crash into the roof of her shelter and send it tumbling down. But she doesn't.

"What?" she asks groggily, propping herself up with her arms. I get back to my feet and step away a few feet. "It's just after sunrise. I don't have to be up this early."

I roll my eyes. "I'm going hunting. The supplies won't last forever. You guard," I say, flicking a knife into the dry soil near the entrance of Finch's shelter, for her to use when I'm out hunting. I get out another knife and stalk off into the sparse piney woods.

Despite being much quieter than Cato and Lover Boy, I still crack half of the pine needles I step on. They're just so _brittle. _I know that Finch can move around without a single sound, but she can't throw a knife to save her life. Literally.

So I'm stuck hunting.

Well, at least it lets me throw knives at something alive. I haven't had any kills since the Cornucopia bloodbath, on the first day. Today is the eighth. Maybe I'll even have the luck to run into someone when I'm hunting.

Even though my footsteps are fairly loud, I am able to spot a chipmunk scurrying down the trunk of a pine tree. I let fly a knife and it finds its target, actually pinning the chipmunk to the tree through its neck. I free the knife and realize that I have nothing to put my quarry, so I just carry it by the neck in my left hand—I throw with my right.

After one more chipmunk and a squirrel, I head back to camp. The knife I used is still covered in blood.

It drips down my wrist, staining my hands.

**Finch**

A few minutes after Clove leaves to go hunting for food, I pull all three of the backpacks out of the debris hut and take out two pieces of dried fruit, two of the beef jerky, and I also pick the rest of the dandelions—which is only five. I wolf the food down, and of _course_ a crow has to dive down from a pine and grab one of the backpacks.

I glare at the bird, knowing I would be found and killed if I yelled at it—Clove's district partner is surely awake by now, and probably One as well. So . . . I unzip the remaining two backpacks, the green one and the black one, and take inventory of our lasting supplies. The pepperoni sticks, apple, string, and half of the beef jerky are missing. _Four strips of jerky, four of dried fruit, three nut packs, rope, and a lighter._ _Plus whatever Clove brings back from her hunt._ I might have to steal more from the Careers' stockpile soon.

I hear the crunching of pine needles under even footsteps, and instinctively I snatch up the knife that Clove let me borrow, leap behind the log and crouch down low.

"Finch?" Oh—it's Clove. I rise up slowly, and almost flinch back and fall down the riverbank when I see that she is holding three dead animals by the neck, their blood running down her hand. She must not notice because all she says is, "Two chipmunks and a squirrel. Did you already have something?"

"Y-yeah," I reply, "but . . . we lost some supplies."

"What?" Clove snaps angrily. "How much? How?"

"About—about half of them. Crow stole it." I gesture to the two remaining backpacks and see her throwing hand tighten around a knife. _Don't throw it, _I pray.

"A _crow?" _she scoffs, her tone still angry. "How does a _crow_ steal that much?"

I get the idea she doesn't really want an answer. And I am right—she sends one final glare my way and coldly says, "Figure out a way to cook these—" she holds up her catch, "—without actually lighting a fire." She pins the three animals to a pine through their necks with a knife.

And yes, I have already figured out how. In the Capitol, one night for dinner there was this fancy dish where we cooked cubes of meat over an open flame. Sounds like lighting a fire? It would probably work just as well if we just set the cube of meat on fire for a few seconds—as Clove said, we can't light one.

I find a suitable stick on the ground, and try to sharpen one end of it with my borrowed knife. Clove notices that I am failing miserably and finishes the job, then asks,

"We can't roast anything—what're the sticks for?"

I explain my idea. "We can cut small pieces of meat and put them on the sticks. Then we light the pieces on fire, and blow it out when they're cooked."

Clove nods and with a few skillful strokes of her knife, she has the first chipmunk cut up. She skewers them on the stick, and I dig the lighter out of the black backpack. I flick the switch for a few seconds, long enough to catch the meat on fire.

**Clove**

I blow the flames out as soon as I am able to after the meat is cooked. How much I want to do that to Fire Girl, blow out the fire of her life!

I don't even wait for it to cool down very long before wolfing down all but one piece of meat. "You want the last one?" I ask Finch. She nods and takes it, and it leaves some char on her fingers once she eats it. I go down to the stream and rinse the blood from my hands, having to rub off some parts where it dried. I come back up to the clearing and find Finch burying the parts of the chipmunk we can't eat.

I begin to count our supplies, but Finch must have already done that because she tells me. With as little as we have, she will have to steal more, soon—probably today. Cato will definitely be a problem; Finch should wait until he goes out hunting for tributes. The mines won't be too much of a difficulty; she knows how to get past them.

For lunch, I have the squirrel I caught this morning and Finch the remaining chipmunk. With those eaten, we barely have any food left. Just the four strips of beef jerky, the four of dried fruit, and the three small packs of nuts. That would most likely get us through the next day, but no longer.

"Five," I say. "We're running low on food." I refuse to say the word 'need' in front of her.

"Yes," she responds. "I've been thinking about that too. But your district partner will be awake by now."

"Mines," I remind her. "Cato'll just leave to go hunting and trust the mines to keep you out." I smirk. Nope, they won't keep Finch out.

She nods. "I'll do it in about an hour. But I can't take too much or your district partner will notice."

I begin to agree, but I catch sight of a thick column of smoke. I point it out to Finch, but she says she noticed it about he same time I did. "Go now. Cato's definitely out looking for whoever lit that fire—the camp'll be empty," I say. Finch nods again and takes the green backpack from the ground near the log, then disappears into the forest of scattered pines and firs.

**Finch**

My eyes dart over the Career camp, checking for the thousandth time if it is indeed completely deserted. It is, even the District Three boy is out with the two Careers.

I emerge from the woods. Deciding it's safe, I run for the pyramid of supplies, already in my pattern of quick, light even though I haven't reached the mines yet. Well, now I have. I carefully place my feet, then continue to advance in small hop-steps, occasionally having to balance on one foot.

Oh, this is just great. I'm in a position where I will have to jump over a barrel—I can't get around it without retracing my steps and starting all over again. Taking a deep breath, I bend my knees slightly and launch myself up and forward.

For a few seconds, I think I'm going to make it and live, but I overshoot and the momentum from the jump throws me forward. I can't help but give a sharp squeal as I fall to the ground—but somehow I'm not blown to bits. I must have been lucky and landed on a safe spot. I slowly get to my feet and continue to the pyramid.

I swing the green backpack in front of me and take a handful of crackers from a bin that is cracked open a bit, then three apples from a burlap sack. _Oh! _There's even a bag of rolls! Those are precious; I take four—which is more than I should probably take, but shouldn't be noticed.

Positive that I haven't taken enough to cause suspicion, I take a different route out of the minefield—one that _doesn't_ involve hurdling over a barrel.

I safely make it back to the woods. When I'm only a few hundred yards from the riverside clearing, I hear an ear-splitting boom, louder than just a cannon. I instinctively cover my ears—the cameras won't see, they'll all be focused on the explosion. What could have caused that, anyway?

_The mines. _They're obviously the only thing in the entire arena that could make a noise like that. And if the mines went off—

_The Careers have no food._

I may no longer have that huge food source to steal from, but the Careers will starve, or at the very least be weakened, without them. Clove and I actually have some. Right here in this backpack. Clove can always hunt more chipmunks—there are tones just scampering around. And whoever heard of killing a chipmunk with a spear? That probably wouldn't work so well for the two Careers.

I allow a grin to creep onto my face. They're going down without food.

**Clove**

"How much did you get?" I demand as soon as Finch is back. That booming noise _had _to be the mines exploding, the food being blown up. Marvel and Cato will lose their only food, but we'll lose a lot as well.

"Rolls, apples, and crackers," she answers, handing me the green pack. I look inside and see the new additions to our supplies. Should last us the next few days, and I will be able to get more chipmunks and squirrels.

_Boom! _It's a cannon this time, probably Dem if it wasn't him this morning. Cato's sure to be furious about the destruction of his supplies—and Dem set up the mines. It's his fault that they blew up, even if he didn't set them off himself. Or maybe it's whoever set that fire.

_**Time skip . . . it's just after sunset**_

We each have an apple and half a roll for dinner, sitting on the log and waiting for The Fallen to light up the sky. How many deaths were there today? Two? Three? The one in the morning, and the one just after the explosion. There was probably one during the explosion, the one who set the mines off.

The national anthem plays as the sky glows blue. First up is Dem, as expected. Then the boy from District Ten, was he the one who had set the fire? Actually, he was probably the cannon shot I heard this morning.

Eight tributes left.

_Marvel. Cato. Finch. Thresh. Girl from Eleven. Fire Girl. Lover Boy._

Only eight left. Seven more will die. One will win.

That'll be me.

**I apologize for the shortness and crumminess of this chapter. I just had to update because I haven't in SUCH A LONG TIME!**

**And I am always open to requests. Nobody dying yet, I have it all planned out from Day Thirteen on. So, from now until then, ideas are more than welcome!**


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